


Leader

by trufflemores_Glee_fic



Category: Glee
Genre: Friendship, M/M, permanent hiatus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 21:08:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 45,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11608998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufflemores_Glee_fic/pseuds/trufflemores_Glee_fic
Summary: Read-at-your-own-risk, an unfinished Season 4 Blaine-centric fic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everybody! After receiving multiple requests to repost my old Glee fics, I have created a second AO3 account to do so. I hope you can forgive me for flooding the Glee pages over the next few days. 
> 
> I also ask for kindness regarding the quality of these fics. Over on my main AO3 account (trufflemores), I have written over 150 Flash fics; end result, my current work is of a higher quality than these older pieces. But I know how beloved old fics can be, and I respect that something I consider sub-par can be someone else's favorite. 
> 
> So I hope you enjoy this fic and any others you choose to read. If you choose to do so, I would also be happy to have you on board 'The Flash' bandwagon as well.
> 
> Kick back, relax, and enjoy. You have been one of the greatest audiences I have ever had.
> 
> Affectionately yours,  
> trufflemores

Blaine couldn't say he hadn't been expecting it.

Still, it came as a cold shock to him when Rick the Stick Nelson of all people tossed a raspberry slushy in his face.

"Let that be a message to your little Glee club," he sneered, accepting a high five from one of his lackeys as they sauntered off. Blaine ignored the jibe, lifting an arm to brush slushy off his face before the dye could settle in.

He'd known that the New Directions' stand off with the Cheerios and football jocks at lunch wouldn't go unpunished. In some small corner of his mind, he almost wished that it had been someone else, some more experienced member to take one for the team.

Nevertheless, there was a certain poetic justice that he, as newly elected Rachel, would be the first to pay the price. He'd still hoped that it would have taken a week or more to be degraded back to the bottom of McKinley's social pyramid, but he was grateful that the tension had broken so quickly. He wouldn't have to wait in impatient fear for the first strike, and if slushies were their main weapon for retaliation, then he could handle it.

Pulling a clean hand towel out of his locker (Kurt's suggestion, and never more appreciated than it was then), Blaine held it to his eyes. After several long moments, he was able to pry it away and dab the rest of his face clean, careful not to crush the ice into smaller pieces. His optometrist had warned him that his right eye would be sensitive and doubly vulnerable to foreign contamination after the rock salt incident. Expected though not overly alarming, the warning that a repeat incident could cost him more than a replacement cornea and a costly medical bill had been enough to ratchet Blaine's nerve up to unprecedented levels regarding both the eye surgery and the aftermath. Thankfully, Kurt had been around and sufficiently concerned that he was able to focus on staying calm for him rather than imagining all of the terrible things that could happen either during or after the surgery.

There was no Kurt and no impending eye surgery to help him then, and he had to force himself to calm down and refocus as he finished wiping the bulk of the slushy off his face. He wrinkled his nose when a sizable glob landed on the floor with a wet smack, coating his shoes. Wonderful. At least they were black, he reminded himself, making the cheerless trek to the boys' bathroom alone to tidy up.

He scanned the stalls quickly for any unwanted visitors, hesitating before leaving the door unlocked. If he had to, he could always duck into one of the stalls to avoid a second confrontation. Better that than to arouse curiosity and frustration by locking one of them out.

Stepping up to the sink, he turned the cold water nozzle on and kneaded the bright blue hand towel underneath the spray, squeezing the food coloring out of the fabric. Once it was marginally cleaner, he lifted it to his face once more, pressing it against his eyes gingerly and waiting for the burning sensation to abate.

A loud smack startled him back to reality as the door clanged against the wall. His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch as he whirled around, reflexively dropping the towel in the sink as he did so. Blaine's flight instinct proved needless as Artie wheeled in seconds ahead of Sam, their expressions grim as Sam locked the door behind himself.

"That's so messed up," Sam said quietly, taking in Blaine's appearance and shaking his head as he approached. "How the hell does slushying not count as physical violence, anyway?"

"The school board doesn't recognize frozen drinks as a weapon," Artie explained dully. "Schuester tried to confront it last semester."

"Yeah, well, we need to revisit it, because this is unacceptable," Sam said, picking up the hand towel and fumbling with the sink nozzles.

Blaine watched him, stepping back a little to give him room to work, still trying to process how they had even known. At last, he asked bluntly, "How did you two find out?"

"We followed the trail of corn syrup," Artie drawled.

"Wasn't hard, dude," Sam added, handing him the white hand towel, warm and damp. He lifted it to his face, pressing it against his right eye once more, shoulders slouching in relief. "Sugar saw it, too, but she didn't want to go in the boys' bathroom."

"We need to plan a counteroffensive," Artie insisted, wheeling further into the room and folding his arms as Sam shut off the water and stepped back. "We can't let them walk all over us like this."

"What choice do we have?" Sam countered. "It's not like we can take it up with the school board. They don't care."

"We don't have to fight them," Blaine pointed out quietly, pulling the towel away so he could look at both of them. "If we refuse to engage them, then we take away all of their power."

"And if they still slushy us?" Artie asked, relentless.

Blaine pressed the towel to his eyes again, sparing him the necessity of answering. "Then they slushy us," he said at last, hoping that the fatigue in his voice wasn't too terribly obvious.

"I still can't believe they did this," Sam said. It took Blaine a moment to realize that he'd stepped forward and put a casual hand on his shoulder, anchoring him. It was nice, especially since his hands were shaking. Sam didn't say anything about it, thankfully, bulldozing ahead with his point. "We've had Unique for days now, and Marley isn't that out there."

"We stood up to them," Artie reminded, shrugging. "We stood up for her. That's a slap in the face to them. We were on their side, and then we went behind their backs and supported Marley and her mom instead."

"Insulting Marley's mom was wrong," Blaine said quietly, pulling the cloth away from his eyes so he could look at them. "I don't care if we lose our status at this school because we let her in the club. She's got an amazing voice, and if the jocks aren't willing to accept her. . . ." He shrugged.

"Our status was the only thing keeping the slushies away," Artie pointed out, making a frustrated gesture with his hands. "If we don't have that, what do we have?"

Blaine opened his mouth to say something, to offer some encouragement, before closing it wordlessly, turning back to the sink. He wanted to say that they still had an amazing group that was capable of doing anything, that they would pull through the loss of their seniors in order to maintain their standing in the show choir circles and prove that they could come back stronger than ever. He wanted to say that it didn't worry him that they had dropped from popular to untouchable in the span of three days. He wanted to, but he couldn't, because he couldn't lie to both of them like that.

"We'll just have to do our best," Sam said simply, giving his shoulder a light, barely there squeeze before pulling back. "If you need anything, let us know, okay? I've got a few extra shirts in my locker. They might be secondhand, but they're still good."

"Thank you," Blaine said quietly, looking over at them again briefly. "I . . . I really appreciate it."

"We've got your back, bro," Artie assured, rolling up so he could fist-bump him. "We might not be your Dalton boys, but we're still pretty cool."

Blaine's lips quirked up in a slight smile as he watched them go, Artie unlocking the door before rolling out with Sam.

It wasn't perfect - and there would certainly be more slushies to come over the next few weeks - but it was a start.

Even if there was no one else to support the New Directions but the New Directions, at least they could rely on each other.

We'll get through this. We'll survive this.

I'm not going to let them down.

Blaine silently vowed not to tell Kurt about the incident in their Skype convo that night. If he couldn't handle a few slushies without his boyfriend, how was he supposed to handle the real world?

He could do this. The slushying incident had reminded him that there were still sharks in the water, but he would survive.

He was the leader. What else could he do but move on?


	2. Chapter 2

Unique presented the Glee club with a challenge, Blaine knew, sitting on the top tier of the stands as he watched the Cheerios practice.

Even though he wanted to support her lifestyle without knowing exactly how it worked, he also knew that the rest of the school wasn't as open-minded. Differences were viewed as threatening. Those that embraced them were condemned to social exile. While Unique had already reassured him that she was willing to accept what might be coming, Blaine couldn't help but want her to tone down some of her more eccentric choices.

Still, he knew that his suggestions wouldn't be met kindly because she resented him. She had coveted the title of the New Rachel as dearly as any of them, and he knew that she hadn't accepted his victory lying down. It didn't surprise him that, while his slushying seemed to have circulated around the entire Glee club within twenty four hours, she was the only member not to express any awareness of the fact. Similarly, it didn't surprise him that she hadn't stayed after school to try and formulate ways to avoid further retribution.

Thankfully for the Glee club, they hadn't been part of the 'in' crowd long enough to make other enemies. It would have been doubly embarrassing to be shunted back to the bottom by people that they had bullied only days before. As it was, Blaine hated that they had been a part of it at all, be it by active participation or silence.

Marley's mother had been their primary victim, and it still amazed him that Marley had accepted their invitation to join the Glee club at all. Blaine didn't know if he would have been as generous if he had been in her shoes. Even though he had difficulty equating Burt Hummel with any form of resignation or passivity in his mind's eye, he could see Carole submitting to it in order to spare herself unwanted stress; it didn't surprise him that Marley's mother had chosen the same quiet tolerance of the events to avoid hassle.

After a particularly violent session, Blaine had slipped quietly out of the cafeteria, tossing his half-full tray in the trash as he did so, and huddled in one of the library's arm chairs for refuge. It had been the coward's way out, refusing to admit what was happening was real by ignoring it. Still, he couldn't bring himself to stay any longer, and he had calmed down enough that he could focus solely on his next three courses by the end of lunch.

In spite of it all, Marley had joined them. Sam might have offered the apologies for the group as a whole, but Blaine was the one left to pull her into the group, to guide her across the stage until she was one of them. It was a simple ceremony, humble to inexperienced eyes, but it carried weight and recognition when she followed. Not only did she see his authority as leader of the group, but so did the others, letting him have the responsibility to officially insinuate a new member.

All except Unique, who refused to meet his eyes.

He didn't mind her opposition. She hadn't presented any threat to him, and he knew that she would face opposition as well if she attempted to dispose him. Unhappy though their relationship might be, there was always opportunity to improve. Given the New Directions' historic tendency to forgive and forget grudges, he didn't worry too much about her present resentment.

He couldn't resign as the new Rachel, for one simple reason: the New Directions needed a leader. Resignation would cause discord, and the stress might strain their entire group dynamic until they found a suitable replacement. While he wasn't completely indisposed to the idea of handing over the responsibility to someone else, he knew that the group was volatile enough with their foundation - the very members that had restored the Glee club to any form of notoriety - gone.

Tina and Artie were the last remnants of the core group. Blaine understood Tina's desire to claim leadership now that Rachel had graduated, having lived in her shadow for the better part of three years. Still, she had been ... different, ever since Mike left and they broke up over the summer. Blaine couldn't pinpoint the exact cause of her personality change, but he didn't like it. She was more aggressive, and while he knew that she would use that energy to strengthen their competitiveness, he didn't know how she would handle discord and opposition.

Not to mention a bit of Blaine's own pride came in to play as soon as Artie announced that he was the new Rachel. He could have demurred and stated that after consideration, he had realized that he wasn't up to the task. He could have also insisted that he was unworthy for the position and that, as the senior member, Tina should have the leadership role. Failing that, Brittany's seniority usurped his as well, and her quirky enthusiasm might have assisted the New Directions' morale. Unique's status as the newest member but MVP made her a viable option as well. In the end, he hadn't deferred because, as much as they had, he had wanted the leadership role, and once he had received it, he didn't have any intention of letting it go.

Sam and Artie were his solidarity, and he appreciated them more than even in the midst of their social demise. Leaders never ruled alone for long, and having their open support made it easier; Sugar and Joe were quiet but equal supporters as well. Marley seemed more ambivalent to his leadership role than anything. She was already growing on him more as a friend than anything, sitting next to him at the lunch table and in Glee club. She was also easy to talk to, opening conversations and letting the topics shift naturally from one to the next. Blaine liked her, liked her companionship and trustworthiness and intelligence.

He had good friends, he reflected, swinging his feet back and forth lightly as he waited for Cheerios' practice to close. Even if he wasn't sure about her opinion on the matter, Brittany still needed a ride home from Cheerios' practice, and his involvement in after school clubs meant that he was around and available. If nothing else, it might endear him to her a little more.

"What are you doing here?" a sharp voice chimed in, breaking his reverie.

Blaine shrugged as Kitty ascended the tiers in easy bounds, stopping two levels below him and folding her arms over her chest. "I'm waiting for Brittany," he said. "She needed a ride."

"Non-Cheerios aren't allowed at practices," Kitty quipped, "and that includes gel-obsessed hobbits." She eyed his hair with the same disgust most people reserved for moldy bread, meeting his eyes with a fierce sort of resentment a moment later.

"I'm not interested in stealing your routines," he assured, gesturing broadly at his notebooks and satchel. He had been working on some of his student council work when it hit him that Unique hadn't joined any extra-curriculars, and since then he'd been pondering her status within and without the Glee club. Kitty seemed unimpressed, her gaze narrowing as he promised, "I'll stay out of your hair."

"We'll see about that," she replied, turning on her heel and descending before he could think of a suitable response.

Thinking that maybe the practice was finally drawing to a close as he saw the Cheerios gathering around their fearless leader, Blaine turned and slid his notebooks carefully back into his satchel. He had enough time to tug it over his shoulder and get halfway to his feet before a familiar voice barked, "Anderson!"

Almost tripping over the tier in front of him in surprise, he managed to steady himself in time to catch her next comment, the rest of the Cheerios watching in dispassionate amusement. "Vacate the stands and report to me, now."

Hopping down from the last tier, he startled when he saw that she stood less than three feet away. The intensity of her gaze was disconcerting as she sized him up. Self-consciously, he straightened his shoulders, not wanting to show any weakness in front of someone that thrived on it. "How much weight can you bench press?" she demanded at last.

Blaine frowned, one hand holding his satchel steady over his shoulder. "I'm sorry?"

Without waiting for a proper response, she bent down and tossed him a football bag that had been lying on its side near her feet. He caught it with a grunt, some of the wind knocked out of him by the impact. "Only Cheerios are permitted to watch our practices," Coach Sylvester recited, tossing a red and white pom-pom at him. It landed on top of the bag, brushing against his face. "Think you can manage that?"

It took Blaine ten seconds to comprehend what she was asking, the vehemence of his response halting in the face of not wanting to offend her. "Oh, no, Coach Sylvester, I'm not - "

"Perfect," she said, cutting off his speech before it could gain any momentum. "One of my male performers dropped out after compressing two of his spinal discs last week and I need another lifter." She turned to the Cheerio standing to her immediate right and picking up a chart that she had been holding, flipping through a sheaf of papers on top. "Practices begin immediately after school. I expect you in full uniform and ready to perform as soon as the bell rings."

"Coach - "

Coach Sylvester looked him in the eye then, her sunglasses shielding most of her expression. "You've already seen our routine for the first competition," she said. "I suggest you quit while you're already behind and accept it." Then, blowing her whistle, she bellowed, "Five laps, now," and the remaining Cheerios took off around the field. Turning her back to him, she watched the cheerleaders run, her stance as heavy a refusal as anything.

Not wanting to spark any unnecessary enmity between them but knowing that he couldn't commit to being a Cheerio, he tried a different tactic, setting the bag down carefully. "Why do you want me to be a Cheerio?"

"You know why," she answered, the flatness in her tone making it clear that she wasn't going to entertain opposition. Without waiting for a response, she lifted the bullhorn to her mouth and shouted across the field, "You think this is hard? Try committing harakiri, that's hard!"

"There have to be other options," Blaine insisted, setting the pom-poms down on the bag.

"You're the one that saw my practice, so you're my new Cheerio."

Shaking his head, Blaine started to walk away. Maybe he couldn't reason with her, but he didn't have to accept. It wasn't like his reputation was at stake, he reflected ruefully. There wasn't a shred of it to redeem. "I'm not going to do it," he called over his shoulder, halfway across the stands and gaining momentum with each step. He could wait for Brittany in the courtyard until she finished practice or, if worse came to worse, recruit Marley to give her a ride. Maybe he should have done that in the first place, he thought, wincing at his own oversight. Either way, Coach Sylvester's threats were empty to him.

Then, quietly: "You will if you want Brittany to stay on the team."

Blaine froze mid-step. "That's blackmail," he pointed out in a low voice.

"I blackmailed Figgins," Coach Sylvester retorted. "If you think that a little intimidation is above me when I need something, then you're wrong. I need another Cheerio to fill that slot and you're here. So congratulations. You should be honored to be a part of one of the top cheerleading squads in the country."

Blaine bit his lip, hesitating a moment before walking away, determined not to let her get to him.

"Be in my office tomorrow morning or Brittany's off the team!" she called after him.

Closing his eyes against the urge to shout that that wasn't fair, Blaine walked off the field.

At least Unique hadn't seen fit to join the Cheerios, he thought sourly, settling on one of the steps in the courtyard, clouds already beginning to obscure the light late summer sky. He didn't want to think about how she would have responded if the same options had been placed before him.

* * *

"So I'm not allowed to wear high heels during practices, but you're allowed to wear a cheerleadinguniform?"

Blaine closed his eyes as he leaned back in his seat in the choir room, trying not to snap back that he was doing it for Brittany's sake, not his own. "It's temporary," he said, keeping his voice as soothing and low as he could even while Unique bristled in the front of the room. "Coach Sylvester needed another lifter to perform for their first competition. She'll find someone else to take over from there." He shrugged, clasping his hands as though it settled the matter; which, as far as he could see, it did.

She hadn't taken him on as a permanent member, and while Blaine knew he had enough athletic prowess to manage the first set of routines, he knew that long-term exposure would require a rigor that he didn't have. Not unless he was willing to devote half his life to being a cheerleader, he amended. Which, even for Brittany's sake, he wasn't. Some things he could put up with, but he had certain standards to maintain and the impermanence of his position was one of them.

Unique didn't look appeased. She was standing beside the piano, leaning one elbow against it and eyeing him with unconcealed disapproval. "Why do you hate me?" she asked at last.

"I don't hate you," he insisted, keeping his voice calm with an effort. "We're not the most popular club in school any more and that means we need to take some precautions," he went on.

"And you think joining the cheerleading squad is a precaution?"

"I didn't have a choice," Blaine snapped, some of his patience fraying. "If it upsets you that much, then wear high heels to performances. We're just ... trying to protect you."

"I don't need protection," Unique retorted. "I get that this school doesn't accept differences and I can live with that, but I thought you guys were different. Kurt told me you were different."

That stung. Even if Blaine didn't want to admit it, the thought of Kurt disapproving his actions made a bitter taste rise in his mouth. "We are," he assured softly, the words sounding weak to his own ears.

Unique shook her head again, folding her arms. "You're not," she insisted. "You only accept what you want to."

Blaine's patience snapped as he bit out, "I didn't want to join the Cheerios."

"But you'll still accept it," Unique quipped, unsympathetic.

Blaine sighed, some of the fight draining out of him as he lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "It's temporary."

Unique laughed, full and biting as she leaned back against the piano. "So, because this," she waved a hand at herself, "isn't temporary, it's not allowed?"

Blaine looked up at Unique, meeting her gaze fully for the first time since they'd started arguing. Traces of Wade were still there, but overall, she was Unique. Trying to tell her to tone down her style was more than offensive to her; it was depressing. It meant that regardless of where she was or who she wanted to be, she had to stay within a certain range of normal or risk retribution.

With no evidence to dissuade her besides a single slushy facial, she felt understandably slighted.

And Blaine had to fix it.

"I won't wear my uniform outside of practices," he said. "Coach Sylvester gave me that option, at least."

"And I'm still not allowed to wear high heels?"

Blaine shook his head. "It's your choice," he said simply. "I think ... it could have negative repercussions, but so could me joining the Cheerios. The difference? You want to be who you are, and I'm not going to be the one to stand in your way anymore. We'll support you through it, and if things get bad... " He shrugged. "We'll figure something out."

Unique eyed him doubtfully for another moment before nodding once curtly, looking away. "Thank you," she said with only the barest trace of exasperation in her voice. It was an improvement, one that Blaine accepted with a small smile.

He inclined his head, one hand holding his satchel close. "You're welcome," was all he said.


	3. Chapter 3

"What the hell are you wearing?"

Blaine almost fell over mid-stretch, righting himself at the last moment as he stepped forward to keep his balance. "It's a male Cheerios' uniform," he said warily, looking down at the black-and-white track pants and black t-shirt skeptically. "What does it look like?"

"It looks like you've lost it," Sam admitted bluntly, sauntering through the gymnasium doors. Blaine resisted the urge to back away in response, half-wanting to dart off into the locker room and hide before anyone else could see him. He knew that the likelihood that any of the other New Directions' members would walk in the McKinley high gym on a Tuesday afternoon was slim, but he couldn't help the wave of self-consciousness that accompanied being caught in the act. At least he only had to wear the uniform immediately before and during practices. As soon as Coach Sylvester blew the whistle at the end of their last routine, then he was allowed to shed the incriminating wear and return to his usual wardrobe. Still, he hadn't anticipated Sam's visit mid-week, a reality that he berated himself for not considering before.

Of course someone was going to see you, he chided himself, doing his best to look unruffled by the interruption. If nothing else, then Brittany would have told them eventually.

"Dude, what is this?" Sam asked softly, the concern in his voice overshadowed by his disbelief. It made Blaine bristle even as he tried to take it for what it was: an invitation to talk if something was bothering him. Sam's next words obliterated any inclination that Blaine might have had to open up to him as he said, "If you're going through some sort of identity crisis, then Artie and I would be more than happy to - "

"Just because I'm wearing a Cheerios' uniform doesn't mean that I'm having an identity crisis," Blaine bit back, rolling his eyes as he reached down, stretching out his calves carefully. "Now if you'll excuse me, practice begins in ten minutes and I don't intend to be late."

"Since when did you want to join the Cheerios?" Sam asked, walking closer to the center of the gym where he was stretching. "I thought you were more the type to lay-low rather than put yourself out there like this." He waved a hand vaguely at Blaine, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Wanting to take pity on him for trying to make amends even while biting back another retort, Blaine focused on his stretch. "Maybe I didn't have much choice," he retorted, slightly breathless from the exertion, switching from his left leg to his right as the muscles burned. "If Brittany wants to be a Cheerio, then I have to be a Cheerio."

Sam paused mid-step, frowning and tilting his head to one side. "The hell's that supposed to mean?"

Blaine sighed, straightening completely as he finished stretching his other leg and looking Sam in the eye. "I know it looks weird, but Coach Sylvester needs a back-up performer for the Cheerios' first competition next week and . . . I'm available."

"She has like twenty guys."

"Eleven," Blaine corrected, "and she needs twelve to be lifters."

Sam's eyebrows rose almost to his hairline as he looked Blaine up and down, silently appraising him. Blaine puffed up his chest involuntarily, willing himself not to snap back that just because he wasn't as tall as Sam, it didn't mean he couldn't bench more. Yes, he had seen Sam's abs before and he knew that in a wrestling match he probably wouldn't win, but that didn't mean that he couldn't lift girls for their performances. With the exception of Brittany - who rarely performed as a jumper, anyway - Blaine could lift all of the Cheerio girls off the ground to varying degrees. It wasn't easy and it certainly took it out on him, but he'd been boxing for years and his upper body strength was phenomenal as a result. He could handle a little extra weight lifting in his daily routine if it meant keeping Coach Sylvester and Brittany happy.

"So you volunteered for this?" Sam asked, advancing until he was barely two feet away. Blaine shrugged, making a dismissive motion with one hand as he stretched his left arm over his right.

"I'm on the team," he puffed. "That's what matters."

Sam's eyes narrowed, skepticism crossing his visage once more. "She forced you into this, didn't she?"

Blaine rolled his eyes as he stretched his opposite arm. "Maybe," was all he said, dropping into another stretch. It put more emphasis on his hamstrings, making his legs tremble a little with the effort. "I know it seems ridiculous, but it's a good distraction. Besides, I haven't been slushied once since joining the squad. I consider that an achievement."

"You haven't been slushied because the jocks are still sizing things up," Sam interjected softly. "As soon as they figure out what they need to do to make it clear about who's in charge around here, then they won't hesitate to do it."

Blaine huffed, straightening again and shaking his head. He knew, in some rational corner of his mind, that Sam was right, but he had made his decision and he wasn't about to go back on it now, regardless of whether or not it benefited him in the long run. He couldn't disappoint Brittany that easily and he wasn't about to part ways as enemies with Coach Sylvester. As long as he could keep them both happy and keep the jocks off his back for a while, then everything would work out. He just couldn't over-think it. Glancing over at the clock on the wall, he huffed as he noticed the time, shaking his head at Sam as the latter stepped forward as though to pull him aside and make him reconsider his decision. "I've got to get out on the field," he said. "If my choice bothers you, then take it up with Unique. She's already pissed that I banned her from wearing high heels during performances, but I get to run around in a cheerleader's uniform."

"I thought she was cool with that?" Sam asked, frowning. "She hasn't worn them to practice since."

Sauntering over to the doors leading outside, Blaine shook his head again. "Ask her some time. You'll see. She's not okay with it."

He didn't wait for Sam's response, pushing the doors open and walking outside, stretching his arms over his head as he did so.

Being a Cheerio wasn't ideal - he knew that Kitty already resented him even while she seemed pleased that he had been forced on the team, and vengeance was only a matter of time - but for the moment, he was happy with it. Once one got over the glaring personality flaws that Coach Sylvester had, it wasn't much different from a football practice. There were workouts and routines to run through and competitions to scope out. Cheerios changed their roles almost every day as lifters alternated jumpers for maximum efficiency and style. Blaine found himself paired with a petite brunette that barely weighed more than Sugar. He was able to hoist her over his shoulders with minimal effort, sustaining the poses for almost a full minute before Coach Sylvester blew the whistle and they set down their charges. To his mild surprise and vague disappointment, Brittany said nothing to him during the practice itself, only side-eyeing him curiously as he negotiated the best way to 'throw' his partner without injuring her.

Practices were long but refreshing, and Blaine found that three days in his endurance was still holding steady. Which was good, since Coach Sylvester spent the vast majority of her time pointing out all their flaws and then making the cheerleader responsible do laps, crunches, or push-ups in response. He earned his twenty when he failed to lift his partner in-sync with the other cheerleaders, distracted by her hair coming out of its ponytail and flying into his face mid-maneuver. The girl - Allie - was forced to do fifteen crunches while he did twenty push-ups, listening to Coach Sylvester rain grievances upon them the entire time.

That wasn't the most enjoyable part of the experience, but it was durable. In the end, if it meant that he could make one more Glee clubber happy and less resentful that he was their leader, then he was willing to make the sacrifice.

"I don't see why you're doing this," Brittany informed him abruptly one afternoon as he drove, tapping out an absentminded rhythm against the steering wheel as he did so. He blinked, wrong-footed by the question before turning a little to look at her, refocusing his gaze on the road in front of him a moment later.

"What do you mean, Britt?" he asked, coming to a halt in front of a red light.

Brittany sighed in a long-suffering way before adding softly, "Please don't call me that."

Blaine winced slightly, doing his best not to expose how much the rebuke stung. He had always referred to Brittany as 'Britt,' simply because Brittany had always preferred that he do so. Being told off for it was like being slapped on the wrist for writing with his right hand instead of his left, something that he had never considered a possibility.

There was a long pause where neither Brittany nor he said anything, both digesting the new line drawn. At last, Brittany said quietly, "It reminds me of Santana."

Some of the tension abated from Blaine's shoulders even as his worry racketed up a notch. "Is she okay?"

Brittany sighed. "She's fine," she said, leaning her head on her hand. "She just doesn't have much time to talk."

Blaine smiled at that, unable to keep himself from adding, "Kurt doesn't, either."

"I want to be strong for her because I know how amazing she is, but I really miss our amazing hot lady sex," Brittany said, pouting at the street in front of them.

Blaine shuddered, determinedly not picturing Brittany and Santana having sex. "Britt- Brittany, can we please not talk about that? No offense, but . . . it's really not my thing."

Looking forlorn, Brittany turned to him. "I know that you and Kurt have amazing hot gay sex," she said simply. "Do you guys use Skype or something? Santana says Face Time has better picture quality."

The thought of having Skype-sex with Kurt made Blaine's neck heat up without his permission. They had only hinted at the possibility, airily tossing it around with the same nonchalance as they had phone sex (which neither of them had had the bravado to try yet, either). Shaking his head, Blaine pointedly kept his gaze on the road even as a blush crept up the back of his neck at the thought. "No, no, we . . . we haven't done anything like that yet."

"Oh." Brittany seemed briefly disappointed, leaning her body closer to his involuntarily. Blaine inched a little further to the left in his seat, putting a few more centimeters of space between them. It wasn't that he disliked Brittany; he just didn't put it past her to try to make out with him out of sheer longing for Santana. According to Kurt, she had made out with almost half the school and had sex with the rest. Clearly men weren't a problem for her, and he didn't put it past her to try and remedy their respective situations through a little friendly making out. Blaine did his best not to gag at the image, recalling that Kurt had also told him Brittany made out with her armpits for practice. "So when you two Skype - " she began.

"We haven't Skyped yet," Blaine broke in gently.

"Oh." Brittany frowned. "Why not?"

"Kurt doesn't have Internet service most of the time," Blaine said, smiling ruefully. He knew the dingy little apartment Rachel and he lived in was more likely to have rats than wi-fi, but Kurt seemed love it and that was all that mattered, even if Blaine's heart ached a little at the lack of communication. "When he does, he's usually busy with work," he added, sensing Brittany's next question.

She was silent for a long time, staring down the road as he drove, weighing the options in her mind. Blaine was almost to the point of explaining to her how apartments in New York worked in more depth when she asked, genuinely curious, "So, he lives in a cave now?"

Blaine laughed in spite of himself, pulling up in front of the Pierce residence and putting his Jeep in park. "No, no, he - he just lives in a tough neighborhood," Blaine corrected. "Their electric service is kind of sporadic."

"He should get that fixed, then," Brittany said, not moving.

Blaine nodded, waiting for her to notice that they were at her house and get out - it was well after seven; Coach Sylvester's practice had run late again - but she just sat there, staring ahead. "Is everything okay?" he prompted at last, keeping his tone as gentle as he could when hunger warred with compassion. He was still an eighteen-year-old with needs, after all. Namely, needs that required feeding every so often or else he would shrink to the size of a totem pole.

"I just . . . I really miss Santana," Brittany said quietly, looking down at her hands. Her eyes were slightly misty as she continued, adding, "I miss her laugh. I miss her smile. I miss the way she would braid my hair. She made really amazing hot chocolate, too. I tried to get Lord Tubbington to teach me how to make the recipe and he threw up in it."

Blaine shuddered at the image, again willing himself to think about the mechanics of it. "I'm sorry?"

"I really miss her sweet lady kisses," Brittany sighed.

"Brittany, boundaries?" Blaine pleaded. Seeing Brittany's crestfallen expression, he sighed and unbuckled his seat belt, leaning over the console so he could wrap her up in a hug. "Hey. Look at me." He waited until she lifted her gaze to meet his, sad and unlike the cheerful if bemused girl that he was used to seeing. "I think you're a really amazing girl," he said softly. "You deserve to enjoy your senior year. Santana would want you to have fun. So try not to get too down about it, okay? And Kurt says - " he swallowed, suddenly caught in his own trap of missing someone before forging ahead with a weak smile, "Kurt says I make amazing hot chocolate, if you ever want to come over and try it out."

Brittany leaned against him, looking up at him wistfully. "Can you braid my hair?"

Blaine smiled, leaning back in his seat and squeezing her shoulder once affectionately. "As long as you promise to keep the curling iron away from mine, sure."

"I don't know what that is," Brittany admitted, unbuckling her seat belt and reaching over for her satchel. She looked at Blaine and offered a halfhearted smile, leaning over to peck his cheek once. "You're a really cool guy, Blaine Warbler."

Blaine scrunched his nose up, shaking his head in amusement. "You should go before Lord Tubbington comes out to kill me for kidnapping you."

"Lord Tubbington would never kill a hobbit," Brittany said, popping the car door open and hopping out, shutting it behind her without another word. She offered him a wave at the door which he returned before backing out of the driveway, pulling down the road with a slight sigh.

So far, he had survived Kurt's absence fairly well. Missing him though he was, he still considered himself to be handling the separation without too many side effects. Yes, the cancelled Skype dates had stung (even though Kurt's profuse apologizing had eventually forced him to reign him in before he gave himself an aneurysm over it), and the lack of phone calls had been depressing, but Blaine knew that Kurt was busy getting used to Rachel and his new apartment (if it could even be called that; from the pictures he had sent, it looked more like a remodeled warehouse). It would take some time before they were up to Skyping daily and talking on the phone all the time.

Until then, Kurt needed space, and Blaine had plenty on his mind to keep him occupied.

Pulling up to his house, he parked his car and hopped out, ambling up to the door. He tugged it open and sighed as a quick look around revealed that his parents were out again. His dad worked late as a pediatrician at the local children's hospital, his mother a nursing assistance. The two of them had met in the medical field and found their passion there, and while Blaine thought it was great that they had such a passion for their work, he also resented that it meant virtually no overlapping time in their schedules to spend together. They both tended to work later hours than promised and the resultant missed time meant that Blaine spent most of his time alone in the Anderson house. Cooper's arrival five months ago had been a welcome change from the silence, even if Blaine had hated how many strings his parents had pulled to spend some time with their eldest, pointedly ignoring him.

Ambling into the kitchen, he turned on the stereo that he'd set up on the counter, setting it on his pick-me-up playlist as he prepared a belated dinner. He devoured three turkey sandwiches and a salad within a half hour, scouring the cupboards for chips and other snacks that could help boost his mood a little. Food always made him feel a little better; it invigorated his mood, inspiring him to call up Marley on a whim. He didn't know why he choose her over Tina or Sam or even Artie, but there was something about the new girl that he liked.

"Hey, Marley," he said when she picked up on the third ring.

"Hey, B! How's it going?"

He rambled off his day, enjoying the presence of a listening ear for once. Marley made sympathetic noises in all the right places, laughing as he told her about his talk with Brittany and how he was never going to get over the fact that Brittany over-shared when she felt lonely.

"Maybe you should over-share back? It might gross her out."

"Are you kidding me? She dated half the guys in our school and had sex with the rest." He shook his head as he started pulling out ingredients for snickerdoodles, pouring them onto the island as the door opened. "Oh, hey, gotta go," he said. "Talk to you later, okay?"

"See you, Blaine."

Blaine turned to face the arrival and nearly dropped the flour he'd been holding in surprise. "Puck?" 

"S'up, hobbit?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey, guys, you won't believe who - "

"Brittany's having a crisis," Tina interrupted. "We don't know what to do."

Blaine frowned, stepping up to the girls hanging around the piano and shaking his head. "I don't get it," he admitted. "What's going on?"

"I just don't see the point in wanting to perform anymore," Brittany said simply, staring down at her hands. She was sitting in one of the red choir room chairs holding what appeared to be a five-gallon cup of coffee. Blaine started at it almost as long as he did the baggyWorld's Greatest Grandma t-shirt she was wearing.

"Why aren't you in a Cheerios' uniform?" he asked, leaning his arms against the piano and pointedly ignoring the way Unique shuffled away from it in response.

"I quit," Brittany said simply. Blaine's eyebrows shot to his hairline, his mouth gaping open in disbelief before she added, "Coach Sylvester kicked me off the squad."

"That's terrible," Sam said, straightening as though he would march into Sue Sylvester's option and repeal the decision right then and there. "Why would she do that?"

"She thinks that I no longer have the academic ability to keep up with the other girls."

Blaine shook his head, uncomfortably at a loss for what to say. He wanted to be outraged that his efforts to appease Coach Sylvester and keep Brittany on the squad had been futile, but he couldn't feel the burning anger that he'd almost been expecting. Instead, there was a dull hollowness in his gut that made him wish he could sink into the floor and simply forget that any of it had happened. That Kurt would actually be at his house and he could stop by to see him after school rather than enduring Coach Sylvester's abuse for hours on end.

Thankfully, Joe stepped in before Brittany could say anything else, sitting on the piano bench next to Blaine. "They can't be that bad," he insisted in a bracing way. "What'd you get on your last test?"

"An F minus."

Tina made a noise like a cat being strangled.

"Look, I know I'm not as smart as you guys - or as talented - "

"Of course you're talented," Artie interjected, cutting off her self-deprecating tirade. "You were amazing during Britney week."

"That was two years ago," Brittany pointed out. Blaine mentally chalked that down as the reason that he didn't remember said event occurring; if memory served, then he hadn't even met Kurt at the time. Definitely something to ask him about later, if he had been a participant.

Picking up her cup of coffee - if cup was even a suitable name for it - Brittany chugged down three large gulps before sighing and setting it aside. "I can't sing anymore," she said simply.

"Why not?" Joe pressed.

Brittany shrugged. "I'm not on the Cheerios anymore. Santana doesn't want to Skype, and I don't see the point in singing when it's not going to help me graduate."

Blaine was silent, grasping at straws as he said, "You'll graduate this year. We'll help you - "

"People have tried," Brittany interrupted, tucking a strand of hair behind her hair. "But I'm still here."

"We'll help you study," Blaine insisted. "You'll graduate."

Brittany sighed, shaking her head and sipping at her coffee. "I won't."

"Maybe if you stopped drinking so much coffee you could focus better?" Sam suggested gently. "Put the coffee down, Brittany."

"Coffee is the only thing I have left to live for," Brittany insisted sullenly, keeping her grip on the coffee cup.

"What's going on, guys?" Mr. Schue asked as he stepped into the room.

"Brittany's having a crisis," Tina informed.

Mr. Schue frowned, stepping into the room and crouching down until he was eye-level with Brittany. "What's wrong?"

"I don't belong here anymore."

"What?"

"I don't belong in Glee club anymore," Brittany repeated, standing up and taking her coffee with her. "I'm done with all of you."

"Brittany, you can't quit - "

"Watch me."

Brittany walked out of the room without another word, the rest of the Glee club staring after her.

A full minute passed before anyone turned aside, looking at each other doubtfully.

"Well, that went terribly," Unique said succinctly.

"You joined the Cheerios, are you serious?"

Blaine sighed, balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder as he stretched his legs on the floor. Cheerios' practice had been brutal that day - Coach Sylvester had cracked the whip twice as hard with Brittany's absence, making them do laps until their legs trembled with exertion - but he had looked forward to their evening chat all day. Even Brittany's announcement that she had been kicked off the Cheerios hadn't been enough to dampen his mood (albeit, he had to admit that it didn't actually improve it). There was something about being part of a team that didn't expect him to call all the shots that was nice. It reminded him of the old Warblers, in a way, before they'd started expecting him to prepare everything behind the scenes. He'd been one more voice to incorporate into the medley then, falling back with the group rather than taking center stage. He didn't resent the opportunities that he had had as a soloist, nor did he regret his time as a Warbler, but he had to admit that he missed being part of something that wasn't solely dependent on his own performance.

"Earth to Blaaaaine."

"Huh? Sorry! Got distracted."

"What are you even doing?" Kurt asked, amused.

Blaine rolled his eyes, smiling in spite of himself. "Trying to regain feeling in my legs," he said dryly.

"Ahh. Sylvester keep you late?"

"Mmmhmm. Wait, how would you know?"

There was a soft chuckle on the other end of the line, followed by the sound of a paint brush sweeping against a wall. "Let's just say that I had my own foray into the Cheerios a few years back."

Blaine dropped his phone, scrambling to pick it up and not pull a muscle in the process. "I'm sorry?" he asked, almost choking on the words.

"Blaine, honey, breathe."

Flopping back against the couch, Blaine shook his head, stretching his toes. "You're kidding. You were a Cheerio."

"I was a Cheerio," Kurt repeated, an amused tint to his voice. "Do I need to write it down for you?"

Blaine shook his head again, belatedly realizing that Kurt couldn't see it. "No! No. I mean. I'm just . . . surprised."

"Stop drooling, Anderson. I was still a baby-faced penguin back then with pear hips."

"I doubt it."

"It's true."

"Mmmhmm."

". . . you're going to bribe Tina for pictures, aren't you?"

"She has pictures?"

The laugh that greeted him was well worth the four hours of cheerleading practice he'd endured.

"I heard she's been acting pretty bitchy lately," Kurt added, calming down. "What's with this whole freshman personal assistant thing?"

Blaine sighed. "Honestly? I'm just waiting for the meltdown," he admitted. "It seems inevitable at this point. She's been so high strung and all of this isn't doing her any favors. I feel bad that I got picked as the 'New Rachel,'" he added ruefully. "Unique hates me, Brittany quit Glee, and Tina's one step above hobbit-homicide."

"You are not a hobbit," Kurt murmured, the touch of indignation warming Blaine's heart disproportionately.

"Maybe not by your standards, but everyone else seems to have decided that I secretly live in a shire," Blaine assured.

"Mmm." A pause, then: "Wait, did you say Brittany quit Glee?"

Blaine nodded. "Uh huh. Walked out today." He grunted as he stretched his left leg again, straining to keep his arm straight.

"That's crazy. Do you know why?"

"She says she can't - sing anymore," Blaine said, relaxing as he eased out of the stretch, switching to his right leg. "She feels like a failure," he added softly.

Kurt sighed sympathetically. "I had a bad feeling about that," he admitted.

"Did you?"

"Mmmhmm. She turns twenty-one this year, Blaine. Twenty-one. And she's still a high school senior."

Blaine winced. "That's . . . wow."

"Exactly."

"Do I need to stage an intervention?"

"I think the combined forces of the New Directions might be up for the challenge," Kurt said loftily, the smile visible in his voice. "Knock her socks off, Blaine Warbler."

Blaine laughed, breathlessly falling out of his stance. "God, I missed you," he admitted.

Kurt hummed. "It's only been a week," he pointed out quietly.

Blaine sobered at the reminder, nodding to himself. "I know," he said. "I just . . . I can't help it."

"Well, cheer up! Our Skype date this Friday is still on, and I demand to know all the details."

"Of course," Blaine murmured. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Hey," Kurt said softly. "This is what we wanted, remember? What we hoped would happen? And it's amazing here, Blaine. Ugh, I'd kill to be able to give you a tour. It's dingy and the walls are peeling and I have to fake schizophrenia every time I walk out the door after dark so I don't get mugged, but I love it. It's perfect."

Blaine swallowed, glad that the sound was inaudible as he switched his grip so he was holding his phone. "Sounds perfect," he said softly.

"They even have a bakery right down the street that makes the most amaaazing cakes," Kurt crooned, the noise of a creaking floorboard reaching across the line. Blaine could picture it perfectly: Kurt lying on his back on the warehouse floor, an apartment that he lovingly referred to as his piece of the city. He loved it there and Blaine loved that he was so happy, even while he stayed awake for far longer than he should at night worrying about what would happen if Kurt was mugged one night on a trip to the bakery.

"Tell me more," he urged softly.

"It's beautiful," Kurt rambled peaceably. "It's perfect. So, so, so perfect, B. I love it here. I love that I'm here." He made a happy noise and sighed, Blaine swallowing against the lump in his throat. "I love it here," Kurt repeated.

"I'm glad you're having a good time," Blaine said seriously.

"Wouldn't even be here without you," Kurt retorted pleasantly. "Have I ever mentioned that I love you?"

Blaine blinked against the sudden burning behind his eyes. "Once or twice."

"I love you," Kurt said, shameless and sated. "I love you so, so much, Blaine."

"I love you, too," Blaine whispered, swallowing back a choke of emotion as he clutched his phone.

He heard a door creaking on the other end followed by a squeal. "Who's that?" Blaine asked, already knowing the answer.

"Rachel - hang on."

Blaine waited, leaning back against the couch from his position on the floor. "Rach, Rach, calm down!" he heard Kurt saying. "Blaine's on the phone!"

"Blaaaaaaine," Rachel sang, plucking the phone from Kurt's fingers. "Hello, darling."

"Evening, love," Blaine bantered back, a tear slipping down his cheek without his permission. He hastily scrubbed it away, choking a laugh. "How was the date?"

"Oh, it was so lovely," Rachel swooned. "I'm in love."

Blaine chuckled. "That's great, Rach."

"He's still not Finn," she insisted, a light sadness touching her voice. "But he's . . . he's really charming."

"I'm glad to hear it," Blaine said seriously. He could hear Kurt saying something in the background followed shortly by a yelp. "What was that?"

"Kurt intruding on our girl chat," Rachel said.

Blaine smiled. "Mind putting him back on?"

Rachel gave a long-suffering sigh and handed back the phone.

"She's crazy," Kurt said dryly, yelping when Rachel punched him. Blaine didn't need to see her fist connecting playfully with his shoulder to know what had happened. He simply smiled as he listened to the two mock-fighting in the background, culminating in Kurt saying loudly, "I surrender, I surrender!" and Rachel laughing as she walked away. "Still the same, huh?"

"Never better," Kurt beamed. "Sorry to cut you off like this, but Rachel brought muffins and I don't want to miss them. Call me later?"

"Of course. Love you, K."

"Love you, too, B. Night! Rachel!"

"Byeee, Blaaaine!"

Blaine laughed softly. "Night, guys."

"So, what are you going to do?"

Blaine blinked, turning to face Unique. "We're back on speaking terms?"

Unique rolled her eyes, folding her arms. "Sam told me what you did. For Brittany." She lifted her head, looking him over in a calculating way. "And I think that it's incredibly tacky but also kind of sweet. So I'm willing to forgive you if you'll let me wear whatever I want to practice." She looked down at him in a way that said that there would be unpleasant consequences if he disagreed.

"Of course," Blaine murmured, secretly wondering what other outfits Unique had in mind that he hadn't already seen. "So . . . we're on speaking terms?"

Unique rolled her eyes. "When weren't we?"

"Right." Blaine turned back to his locker, pulling out his satchel and slinging it over one shoulder.

"What are you going to do about the Cheerios?" Unique prompted at last, sounding slightly peeved that he had managed to ignore her question.

Blaine shrugged, shutting his locker and turning back to face her. "Exactly what I promised," he said simply. "Coach Sylvester needs another lifter. I'm available. I gave my word that I'd perform in their first competition."

Unique eyed him doubtfully. "You really think she'll let you go once you're done that easily?"

"I don't know," Blaine admitted. "But I still have a bargain to uphold, and I'm not going to break it."

He waited for Unique to step aside so he could continue to his next class, sighing softly in exasperation when she stayed where she was. "What do you want me to say?"

Unique stared at him for several long moments, saying nothing. At last, she said, her voice dropping so passerby wouldn't hear her, "I think you're making a mistake."

"Then it's mine to make," Blaine replied, keeping his voice level with hers. "I appreciate the concern, but . . . I need to do this. For me."

"Not for Brittany?" Unique insisted, arching an eyebrow.

Blaine shook his head. "No. This one's for me," he assured, stepping around her. "I've gotta go," he added apologetically. "See you in Glee?"

"Mmmhmm," was all she said.

"Dude, you didn't tell me Puck was back in town!" Sam stage-whispered as he squeezed onto the lunch bench beside him. "Why the hell haven't I heard this already? We were practically bros!"

"I tried to tell you guys the other day," Blaine said, waving a spoonful of pineapple absently. "Brittany needed us more."

Sam sobered at the reminder, the former Cheerio sitting off to the side, crammed onto the edge of the Glee club table. Fortunately for them, Joe liked to sit cross-legged on the floor by the table rather than on one of the benches, giving them just enough room to fit everyone. As it was, they were quickly becoming closer friends than they had in months.

"She'll come around," Sam assured, his words meant for Blaine's ears alone. He nodded in response, popping a piece of fruit in his mouth and chewing slowly, thoughtfully. "But hey, stop avoiding the subject. What the hell, man? Puck's back in town?"

"Uh huh," Blaine said, swallowing and picking another piece. "He came by my place two nights ago. Said he's dropping in to see everyone on Friday."

"Awesome!"

"Not awesome. We have our big school assembly on Friday, remember?" Artie piped in, wheeling up beside them. "Which we still haven't decided on a number for, by the way."

Blaine bit his lip before shaking his head. "We'll manage," he assured. "Mr. Schue already gave us to do Britney Spears, didn't he? And you guys all said that helped bring Brittany out of her funk before."

"She wasn't in a funk before, it put her in one," Tina corrected dryly. "And then it empowered her."

"See? We can still turn this around," Blaine said, waving another piece of pineapple airily. "We just need to get her back on her feet."

"I don't know, man," Sam said doubtfully. "Maybe we should just focus on the number."

"That's what Mr. Schue would suggest," Artie added pointedly.

Blaine shook his head. "We'll figure this out," he said. "Trust me."

Sam and Artie looked at him doubtfully.

"Well, if nothing else, we have seeing Puck to look forward to," Sam put in, breaking the silence as Artie nodded and wheeled up beside him, setting his tray on his lap and offering his hand up for a fist-bump.

"Damn straight," Artie agreed, bumping his fist back.


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm not going to rejoin the Cheerios," Brittany told Blaine as he ushered her inside the choir room, one hand resting on the small of her back, "and I quit the Glee club."

"Just . . . give us ten minutes?" Blaine urged gently.

Brittany sighed, looking up at the five of them dejectedly. "Fine," she said, sinking into a chair in the front row and holding her bag close to her chest. "I don't see how any of this is going to make a difference."

"Brittany, we want to show you how amazing you are," Artie said, wheeling forward. "So just sit back, relax, and . . . enjoy."

There was a pause during which the band collected itself, Blaine leaning against his own chair while Artie settled into place. The lights in the choir room were dimmed slightly, giving them the appearance of being on-stage rather than standing at attention in the front of the choir room. Waiting for the first few notes, Blaine closed his eyes, feeling Brittany's unconvinced stare on him. He relaxed involuntarily when the song began, setting the pace fast and raw.

"For whatever reason . . . I feel like I've been wanting you all my life."

A small smile quirked Blaine's lips as he moved seamlessly from motion to motion, letting the music take over. Even if it didn't inspire Brittany - which, he knew, was a long shot - maybe it would at least show her that music wasn't always about being a practical means to an end. Sometimes it just . . . was. 

"You don't understand," Artie continued in a murmur that bordered on a rasp, his voice low and coarse with the music. "I'm so glad we're at the same place at the same time."

Blaine had to suppress a laugh at that, all things considered. No part of their meeting was coincidental; getting Brittany to come along with him in the first place had required bribery by sugar sticks. If it meant going out and buying a packet of them to satisfy Brittany, then he would do it.

"It's over now. I spotted you dancing. You made all the boys staaare."

Blaine could almost hear the suppressed giggles from Joe and Sam as he sang, Tina watching with a surprising amount of interest. Brittany, he noticed, still didn't look swayed by their performance, but Blaine wasn't giving up yet.

"Those lips and your brown eyes. And the sexy haaair."

Blaine let his voice drop to a level that was half-croon, half-growl on the final word, chuckling in that low, raspy way that melded perfectly into the music when Artie took over. It wasn't until they reached the chorus that he saw a hint of a smile on Brittany's face. Blaine allowed a small smile to appear on his own face in response, letting his voice slip into the register that he rarely needed to use for either Warbler or New Direction numbers. He saw Sam and Joe making approving motions in the background, Sam pretending to wave a ten-dollar-bill while Joe stuck two fingers in his mouth and silently whistled. Tina rolled her eyes at them and elbowed Sam, watching their performance with only a hint of a blush on her cheeks.

Blaine did his best to ignore them as he strode up to Brittany, playfully batting a strand of hair off her forehead. The brief, vulnerable look she gave him then almost made him falter, but Artie took over a moment later and he fell back into the rhythm as he retreated to his chair. He slid back into the performance easily as the music continued to fill the empty room, closing his eyes to relish the sensation of just letting go.

It didn't matter that he was singing a Justin Bieber - Britney Spears mash-up. It wasn't supposed to be serious - it wasn't even supposed to be rational, he noted dryly - but that was the beauty of it.

It was ridiculous and rough and needed about five more weeks of intensive therapy, but the overall effect was magnificent.

For three minutes, Blaine was free.

When the last notes trickled away, he was almost disappointed by the applause that followed, Sam whistling appreciatively while Joe laughed and clapped. Tina rolled her eyes and halfheartedly joined in. Brittany remained silent, neither moving to get up or applaud.

"So . . . what'd you think?" Blaine asked after a suitably long period of time had passed without a response.

Brittany shrugged, hugging her bag a little closer to herself. "I thought you liked boys."

"I do," Blaine said, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. "But what'd you think of the song?"

"Before you answer," Sam broke in, getting up as Joe and Tina did the same, "listen to this."

Blaine smiled a little, grateful for the interruption as he slid into a seat in the front row, Artie wheeling up beside him.

Two and a half minutes later, Sam was prying an electric razor from Brittany's hand.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, holding the blade out of her reach.

"I'm shaving my head," she said, struggling against his grip until she broke free, letting go of the razor and picking up a green umbrella instead.

"This can't be good," Blaine muttered, hurrying after Sam and the rest as they followed Brittany out the door.

"Brittany - Brittany!"

Sam almost managed to grab her before Jacob Ben Israel and his crew shoulder-checked him out of the way. "Brittany Pierce! Rumor has it that you've gone completely off your rocker, any comment on this latest scandal?"

"Go away, Jacob - "

"Rumor also has it that -"

"Go away, Jacob," Brittany growled, shoving the microphone out of her face as Sam tried to duck into the fray and grab her.

"You can't deny - "

"I don't want to talk to you. Leave me alone," Brittany proclaimed loudly, turning to push Jacob aside. Blaine watched in stunned disbelief as she continued to rain blows on the blogger, using the umbrella liberally in her offense. A crowd gathered to watch, forcing the Glee clubbers back to the outer ring.

"Should we do something?" Blaine asked, staring at the scene unfolding in front of them.

"Not unless you want to be maimed by an umbrella," Sam huffed. "Let her get it out. Jacob's had it coming to him for a while, anyway."

Blaine watched the fight, shaking his head as Ben Israel shrieked from the floor. "I think we need a new approach," he said softly. "Singing doesn't seem to be working."

"You think?" Artie asked dryly.

"What's going on?" Marley asked, sidling up to their group.

"Brittany had a breakdown," Blaine said, holding out his arm to her reflexively. She curled up under it, wincing when Brittany landed a particularly vicious blow on Jacob's stomach.

"Ouch," she murmured. "What are you guys going to do?"

"Us? Nothing."

"Ladies, ladies!" a voice hollered. "Break it up!"

Blaine looked over his shoulder as Sue Sylvester appeared, storming down the hallway and yanking Brittany away from Jacob Ben Israel with one hand. "My office - now," she ordered.

"Oh, thank God," Jacob breathed, lying prone on the floor.

"Shut it, lady," Sylvester ordered, marching Brittany down the hall, umbrella and all.

"Dare I ask?" Unique added dryly, approaching on Sam's left.

Blaine shook his head.

"Probably not," Sam admitted.

"That was trippy," Joe added pointedly.

"Agreed," Artie, Blaine, and Sam chorused.

"So, what's Plan B?" Marley asked, sitting on the edge of the stage in the McKinley High auditorium next to him, swinging her feet absentmindedly in front of her.

Blaine huffed softly. "There's a Plan B?"

Marley shrugged, resting her head against his shoulder companionably. "Of course there is. There's always a Plan B."

"Not this time," Blaine admitted, leaning his head against hers. "I'm not sure things could have gone much worse than that."

"You never know," Marley corrected, nudging his side. "Imagine if she had shaved her head."

Blaine shuddered at the thought, Marley's laughter vibrating through him.

"Maybe you're trying too hard," she suggested lightly. "You know. You're taking on an awful lot of responsibility for this."

Blaine shrugged slightly. "Someone has to," he said simply.

"Does it have to be you?" Marley asked softly.

Chuckling, Blaine shook his head. "Why are you so worried about it? It's not like I'm going to have a mental breakdown in the middle of the hallway."

"I don't know," Marley said, nudging his side teasingly. "All that dapperness is hiding something."

Blaine huffed a laugh. "Dapper now, am I?"

"Occasionally," Marley said. "Don't worry. You're just as crazy as the rest of us, deep down." She patted his knee reassuringly.

Sighing, Blaine let himself enjoy her company in silence for a time, closing his eyes and listening to her breathing. It was calming, in its own way. He couldn't remember the last time that Kurt and he had simply relaxed like this, and even though Kurt was a thousand miles away (metaphorically, of course; the actual distance was less, even if the difference felt insubstantial to Blaine), it was almost the same. Almost.

Opening his eyes when he heard the auditorium door open, he blinked in surprise when Brittany entered the room, one hand gripping her elbow lightly as she strode down the aisle. Blaine felt rather than heard Marley stir back to awareness beside him as Brittany approached, saying nothing.

She paused less than a half dozen feet away, looking between them uncertainly. Marley pulled away from Blaine slightly, her hair sticking to his shirt briefly in a static-y halo.

"I want to perform this Friday," she said softly.

Blaine almost slid off the stage in surprise, catching himself with a hand before he could do so. "That's - great, Brittany."

"But I don't want to sing."

Blaine's hopes deflated in an instant. "Britt - "

"I want to focus on the choreography," Brittany continued, ignoring him. "We can pre-record the music and go from there."

"You want us to lip-sync?" Marley put in, surprised.

"We don't lip-sync in Glee," Blaine added.

Brittany shrugged, unworried by their concern. "We're going to this time," she said simply.

"Brittany. . . ."

"Mr. Schue doesn't have to know," she pointed out.

"That's not the point," Blaine said softly.

"The point is that if we put on an awesome show, people will love us. And I can't sing and perform live, I run out of breath." She shrugged as though that settled the matter. Blaine looked at her, expression pained.

"We can't . . . lip-sync. It's cheating."

"It's only cheating if it's not your own voice," Brittany retorted.

"She has a point," Marley piped in gently.

Blaine looked at her, lifting an eyebrow. "You think we should pre-record the music?" he asked incredulously.

Marley nodded a little.

Blaine sighed, turning his attention back to Brittany. "If you come to Glee club practice tomorrow, we'll talk about it, okay?"

Brittany hesitated, looking up at them in silence before nodding once. "Deal," she said simply, turning on her heel and walking off, the door clanging hollowly behind her.

Blaine sighed again, a gusty, world-weary sound to it as he stood up. "Guess that settles that," he muttered.

"Even if it's not perfect, I'm sure it'll work out," Marley insisted, standing and rubbing between his shoulder blades soothingly. "Come to dinner with me? My mom's making pizza."

Quirking a slight smile, Blaine turned to look at her. "Why are you so nice to me?"

She shrugged, bopping his nose with a finger lightly. "I like your attitude," was all she said, smiling back. Linking their arms, she pulled him off the stage, comfortable silence enveloping them as they walked back to her car.

"Mr. Schue can never know about this," Blaine said softly, addressing the group as a whole.

"Like we'd tell him," Unique said, rolling her eyes.

"Dude, trust us, we've got this," Sam assured. "No one's going to find out. We'll practice beforehand. You can sing along if it makes you feel better; no one will know the difference," he added, patting Blaine's shoulder once reassuringly.

Surveying the room full of Glee clubbers, Blaine nodded a little and clasped his hands together. "So it's settled? Brittany?"

Brittany stood up, walking over so she was standing beside him. "I'm in," was all she said.

Blaine nodded. "This'll be a good thing," he promised her in a whisper as the rest of the Glee club stood up and joined the huddle, silently sealing their agreement.

"You should ice that," Kitty said sweetly, appearing in the locker room and casually clipping him on the shoulder as she walked past. Blaine grunted and said nothing, rubbing his ankle gingerly, wrapping it tightly in one of the spare cloths that he normally used for boxing practice. "Coach Sylvester won't be happy if you can't perform," she added over her shoulder.

"I can perform," Blaine informed, keeping his voice as civil as possible. "Trust me."

Kitty offered him a sour smile in return, vanishing around a set of lockers with a pack of Cheerios close on her heels. Sighing silently to himself, Blaine finished wrapping his ankle, gingerly putting his weight on it to test the makeshift wrap. Coach Sylvester's practices were brutal, but Brittany's breakdown seemed to propel Blaine from the bottom of the chain to the top of her hit list. She'd been ruthless that afternoon, forcing them to repeat the same maneuvers over and over until Blaine's arms trembled and sweat clung to his back. He still managed to make it through all the routines without complaint, dropping to the ground for push-ups whenever she belted the order over her bullhorn. It wasn't until the final lift that he messed up: instead of turning to the left like he should have and balancing his weight evenly on the balls of his feet, he miss-stepped, nearly dropping his partner and twisting his ankle in the process. He'd bit back a cry of pain as his leg folded underneath him, Coach Sylvester's orders to hit the locker room jump-starting him back into action. He'd made it to the back room with minimal difficulty, only grunting when he put too much weight on his ankle.

Looking at it now, Blaine winced as it throbbed. Kitty might have meant the advice caustically, but she was right: if he had a prayer of getting it back to normal before the assembly tomorrow (and how was it already Thursday? he wondered), then he'd need to ice it down and stay off it as much as possible.

Which meant that driving wasn't an option.

Pulling out his iPhone instinctively to ask if Kurt could give him a lift, he bit his lip as he surveyed his possibilities, realizing grimly that none of them were viable options. Sam didn't have his own car, Artie couldn't drive, Brittany didn't know how, Sugar was out of town visiting relatives, Tina probably wouldn't give him a ride in her current mindset unless he was dying, and Joe walked to and from school. Marley had already left with her mother after school, leaving him stranded.

Breathing out deeply through his mouth, Blaine stood up, grateful that - despite the spike of pain - his legs remained solidly underneath him. He didn't bother with his usual after-practice shower, instead limping towards the far door where the parking lot was located. He made it outside without incident, leaning heavily against the door as his ankle gave a mutinous throb.

Pushing himself off the door, he made it to his car after stumbling twice, catching himself before he could face-plant on the concrete. Sliding into the driver's seat, he winced as he eased his foot against the brake pedal, wondering how much pressure he could put on it.

Thankfully, the ride home was easy, with no sharp turns to complicate the ride. The speed stayed within a moderate range, barring the need for sudden stops. Pulling into his driveway twenty minutes later, Blaine breathed a shaky sigh of relief as he leaned his head back against the headrest and put the car in park, closing his eyes and pulling the keys out of the ignition.

He could do this.

They could do this.

They just couldn't let Mr. Schue find out.

Puck would be back and everyone would be happy.

Kurt would call him again.

It would be fine.

Everything would be fine.


	6. Chapter 6

It's gonna be fine, Blaine thought, looking at the others and managing a small smile as they wrapped up their preparations for the assembly. Everything's going to be fine.

As long as no one forgot their lines and everyone remembered to lip-sync, it would be fine.

Ignoring the nervous itch that made his neck prickle and his palms sweat, Blaine walked over to where Brittany was devouring cheese puffs, a pained expression crossing his face. "Aren't you going to stretch or something?" he asked, knowing that the choreography they'd planned out beforehand required at least some conscious effort on her part. Even if Brittany made the moves look almost laughably easy, Blaine knew that there were long hours of preparation that went into it, days of practice and regrouping that took place before she managed to work it out. Seeing her standing around doing nothing to prepare set his teeth on edge.

"I don't need to stretch," Brittany dismissed, continuing to dig into her bag of cheese puffs. Blaine wrinkled his nose when her fingers came away orange, wanting to force her to a bathroom so she could wash her hands before they had to go on.

Tina seemed to share his sentiment as she looked over at Brittany's orange-stained fingers in disgust. "You can't go on stage like that," she insisted, the exasperation in her voice matching Blaine's mood perfectly.

"We're on in five, guys!" Mr. Schue broke in, startling them out of their reverie as he appeared around the corner. Blaine offered a weak thumbs-up in response, staring at Brittany as she continued to pick off cheese puffs.

"Brittany," he hissed, desperate to reign her back under control before their decision to break the rules turned catastrophic. "Please stop eating."

"Attention. Attention, children," Principal Figgins' droning voice broke in from the other side of the curtain. Blaine scrambled to his starting point, only wincing a little when his foot bent the wrong way. He'd managed to calm the worst of the swelling and pain with ice and painkillers the night before, but the combination had only been enough to take off the edge. With time, he was sure, he could have headed it off completely. Breathing in deeply, steadying himself internally, Blaine knew that they didn't have time. The performance was now,and he would be damned if he missed it after all the effort that he had put into its orchestration.

"Ready?" he asked Sam, who offered a wry smile in response.

"Like hell," he said, the first notes of their number pulsing out from the stereo as the curtain rolled. Blaine held his breath as Brittany chanted her first line, breathing out shallowly in relief when she managed to hit the notes spot on.

Unfortunately, things only went downhill from there.

Despite the rest of the New Directions' enthusiasm, it was clear that Brittany's heart wasn't into the performance. She dragged her feet, practically sagging during a lift, refusing to move in time with the group. Blaine frowned as he moved, biting his lip as he watched her slouch through the performance, panic setting in when she started digging in the bag of cheese puffs again.

Brittany, no. Don't.

Too late. She had already pulled out a handful, cramming them in her mouth even as she continued to lazily follow the recording. Blaine caught her for a dip, doing his best not to panic right then and there. No sooner had she righted herself and taken another bite of cheese puffs than an all-too familiar voice called out: "They're not singing, they're lip-syncing!"

Blaine wanted to flee back stage as soon as the booing started, his instincts screaming for him to bolt and abandon the rest. Darting towards the back of the group, he startled a little in surprise when Tina hurried over to him, her expression no less desperate than his own as Brittany continued to mouth along with the recording, ignoring the crowd.

Seeing the rest of the New Directions frozen in shock and horror around him, Blaine did the only thing he could think of: he ran forward and grabbed the curtain, yanking it halfway across the stage and hiding the group from sight as Brittany collapsed to the ground. Heaving the curtain the rest of the way closed, Blaine shut his eyes and willed himself not to hear the loud rebukes beyond, muffled by the heavy fabric. His arms ached with the unexpected exertion but he ignored it, instead limping over to one of the chairs and sinking down heavily into it, dropping his head in his hands.

He didn't know who got Brittany off the floor - a combination of Sam and Joe, he realized belatedly - or when Mr. Schue appeared back stage, ordering their appearance in the choir room in five.

He only knew the defeated feeling in his gut, the shame.

You screwed up.

"I can't believe you guys would do this," Mr. Schue said in a low voice, the disgust plain in his voice.

"We're sorry, Mr. Schue, we were just trying to help Brittany - " Blaine broke in softly.

"What you did was despicable," Mr. Schue cut in sharply. "We are a show choir; we have rules. And the number one rule is that we don't lip-sync."

Blaine looked down, only half-listening to the rest of Mr. Schue's rant. He knew the basics of it - knew that they had failed, had put the entire Glee club at risk - and if that didn't put a bad taste in his mouth. He shivered, trying to imagine not being allowed to compete at all. He knew that their chances of taking home another nationals' victory were astronomically slim, but he didn't want to be disqualified before they'd even had a chance.

He tried to picture it - tried to picture telling Kurt over the phone that he'd gotten the Glee club banned from performances for the year - and swallowed back bile.

It wasn't until nearly a half hour later that Mr. Schue left, storming out of the room. None of the Glee clubbers moved, Blaine's breathing seem loud in his own ears.

Without waiting for anyone else to make a move, he stood up, only wincing a little when his left ankle twinged unpleasantly.

"I'm sorry, guys," he said softly, unable to meet any of their gazes for long. "I shouldn't have let this go this far."

"It's not your fault," Sam countered, equally quiet.

"Yeah, dude. No one blames you," Joe assured.

"We're in this together," Artie added pointedly, wheeling up to his side. "We all agreed to go through it. We're all at fault."

"I'm sorry for potentially ruining your year."

Blaine's gaze shifted to the lone girl sitting in the next row of chairs, sighing softly. "It's okay," he said. "We'll work through this. And if they ban us from competing. . . ." He swallowed, trying not to entertain the possibility too seriously. "We'll work through it. Okay?"

Artie held his hand out for a fist-bump and Blaine gently tapped his knuckles against it. "Of course," he said simply. "We always do. We've gone through crazier crap than this."

"Totally," Sam agreed, standing up so he could drape an arm around Blaine's shoulders in support, looking over the rest of the Glee club. "It's what keeps things interesting at the end of the day."

Blaine couldn't help but lean against Sam slightly, feeling his grip tighten minutely in response.

"We need to stick together," Sam continued, looking at all of them. "All of us."

Nods greeted his words, solemn expressions meeting their gazes.

"We're going to get through this," Sam insisted. "Got that?"

Blaine nodded with the rest this time.

They would.

They had to.

Somehow.

Puck's appearance that afternoon lightened the New Directions' overall mood considerably.

Not only had he managed to sneak in a few bottles of sparkling cider, he'd also brought enough stories with him to keep them entertained for the better part of an hour, sitting backwards on a chair in front of their semi-circle and rattling off tales of what life was like in Los Angeles. Blaine listened with half an ear, having heard most of the story at his house when Puck had dropped by unexpectedly for a visit. Even though he still didn't fully understand why Puck had chosen to visit him that night - Sam and he had always struck him as closer friends, and their conversation during that meeting certainly supported the theory - he was appreciative. It had been nice to have someone to talk to, even if it was just about the inane, unimportant matters in his life.

He'd avoided bringing up Kurt and New York, grateful that Puck didn't ask about either.

Listening to the rest of the group exchanging chatter and laughter, Blaine couldn't help but doze off, drowsing in his seat with minimal attention to his actual surroundings. He knew better than to close his eyes, but he slouched a little in his seat, leaning back in feigned relaxation.

In truth, all he wanted to do was go home and take a long, hot bath until the aching in his foot settled. He knew that performing on it had been a stupid idea - a dangerous one, really; he could damage it even more severely if he wasn't cautious - but he hadn't been able to help himself. He wasn't going to let the New Directions take the hit when he was responsible. Even knowing that the Glee club didn't blame him hadn't fully settled the uneasy feeling he had in his gut, wondering if Mr. Schue was right and they would be disqualified from future competitions.

He didn't notice when he fully dozed off.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Kurt murmured, nuzzling Blaine's hair lightly. They were curled up on his bed, Blaine's head resting on his chest just over his heart, listening to the steady thump-thump of his heartbeat with a slight smile. He tilted his head so he could look at Kurt, surprised at the question.

"Am I ready for this?" he repeated, amused. "I should be asking you that."

Kurt rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms a little tighter around him and pulling him close. "I worry about you," he admitted quietly. "How you'll . . . handle things."

"I'll be fine," Blaine assured, nuzzling his shoulder. "Promise."

"You can't know that," Kurt murmured.

Blaine was silent, tracing mindless patterns against Kurt's arm lightly.

"I just . . . I don't want to leave you," Kurt admitted. "I want to take you with me."

Blaine sighed, swallowing back the sudden lump in his throat. "Trust me when I say there's nothing I'd like more."

"You could skip a year, couldn't you?" Kurt mused, playing with Blaine's hair with his free hand.

Blaine huffed softly and said nothing.

"I need you to be okay," Kurt said softly after a time, barely whispering the words. "I need us to be okay."

"We will be," Blaine promised, reaching out to squeeze his hand gently. "We'll be fine, Kurt."

"Promise?"

The soft, childlike need in Kurt's voice almost destroyed Blaine's resolve. Almost.

"I promise," he said, pressing a kiss to his heart.

Blaine awoke to a hand on his shoulder, startling briefly before settling when he saw that it was just Sam.

"You okay, dude?" Sam asked, pulling his hand back once he saw Blaine was awake.

Blaine nodded, rubbing the back of his neck and looking around the now-empty choir room. "Where'd everybody go?"

"Home," Sam said, a wry smile curling his lips. "You were out for a couple hours, dude."

Blinking dumbly at Sam, Blaine tilted his head to look at the clock on the wall, confirming Sam's claim. He groaned loudly in horror as he realized that he'd missed the beginning of Cheerios' practice.

"What's up?" Sam asked, frowning.

"Practice," Blaine muttered, standing up and wobbling slightly, his left leg almost refusing to support his weight.

"No way, man," Sam said, shaking his head as he stood up and wrapped a supporting arm around his shoulders. "You got a ride?"

"What?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "A way to get home?"

"I have to go to practice," Blaine insisted.

"Puck's already on it," Sam said dismissively. "How are you getting home?"

Blaine opened his mouth to say something, closing it as he shook his head. "I have a car. I can drive."

"On that ankle?"

Blaine frowned. "What about it?" he asked warily.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Don't bull shit me, dude. It's swollen."

"So I twisted it during practice," Blaine said, rolling his eyes. "It's fine."

"You should ice it."

Blaine chuckled mirthlessly, limping towards the door. "Already did."

Sam caught up with him easily, putting a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Let me drive you," he urged.

Lifting a sluggish eyebrow in surprise, Blaine looked up at him. "Why?"

Sam shrugged. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Blaine inclined his head slightly.

"So, let me drive," Sam finished, holding out a hand expectantly.

Staring at him warily for several moments, Blaine sighed and surrendered, digging in his pocket and producing a set of keys, passing them over.

"Thank you," Sam said.

Blaine shrugged, leading the way out to his car. "Don't mention it," he said softly.

And it was nice, he had to admit, having one less burden on his shoulders.

He knew Coach Sylvester would be furious when she found out that he'd skipped practice.

He knew that he'd have hell to pay because of that.

He knew that Kurt wasn't coming back any time soon.

But he would survive all of that. He had to.


	7. Chapter 7

"Hi, sweetheart."

Blaine smiled broadly enough to make his face ache, lying belly-down on his bed with the camera poised on him, staring at Kurt. "Hi," he said softly in reply, unable to think of a more adequate response. It didn't matter. Kurt was finally there, in front of him, and it had been two weeks since they'd parted on the courtyard and he was exhausted but Kurt was there and that was all that mattered. He would gladly stay up all night waiting for Kurt's Skype call if it meant a chance to actually see him again. Of course, it wasn't the same as being able to reach out and brush the strand of flyaway hair dangling over Kurt's forehead. It wasn't the same as being able to curl up in his arms and listen to him chatter inanely about his day, or to hold him close and listen to his soft, steady breathing as he dozed on Blaine's chest. It wasn't the same, but it was a start, and after weeks without any sort of contact like this, Blaine felt like he'd gotten a breath of fresh air after months spent at the peak of a mountain. Everest, maybe.

"You look tired," Kurt mused, delicately peeling apart the wrapping around a truffle before popping it into his mouth and chewing slowly. "Ugh, have I ever mentioned that Brody is the most amazing man in all of New York?"

Blaine huffed softly, unable to take offense at the pleased look on Kurt's face as he devoured the treat. "From what you've said he sounds dreamy," he replied, amused.

"He is," Kurt agreed readily, sighing sadly as he set the box aside, balancing his laptop on his knees so that Blaine could see him a little better. It took his breath away, the sight of not only Kurt's face but his whole torso, the same lean arms he was used to clad in what was doubtless a designer's outfit remodeled. Blaine knew that even if Kurt ended up living in a hovel under the streets that he would still manage to piece together his ridiculously fine-tuned outfits and strut the streets proudly. It was one of those inborn traits that couldn't be shaken; Kurt Hummel would always dress to the highest standards, regardless of what quarters he was living in or what crowd he was among.

"Blaaaine. Did your screen freeze?" Kurt asked, amused, as he continued to tap the monitor on the top of his laptop questioningly.

"No!" Blaine hurried to assure. Kurt and he had tried Skyping before and lost the connection; after much negotiation with the landlord, Kurt had finally arranged for semi-reliable Wi-Fi for their apartment. It was an impressive step forward and Blaine hadn't been able to contain his relief at the thought of being able to chat face-to-face with Kurt again. Even if it was only through a computer screen. "I'm right here," he added, smiling at Kurt demonstratively.

Kurt smiled back and Blaine's heart melted because he somehow managed to take the simple gesture and turn it into the most heartwarming image Blaine had seen in days. Weeks. He couldn't help himself from making a sad, longing noise as he stared at Kurt. His heart ached with the desire to see him again, in person, to hug him and hold him and never let him go. He felt a sudden, sharp pang of rebuke at the precious seconds he had lost with Kurt by not going to the airport with him on that last day. It had taken every ounce of his will power to manage the feat. One of the few things buoying him through the separation had been the knowledge that Burt was going with Kurt to see him off.

If he couldn't be there, then he was glad that it was Burt Hummel who took his place.

"You okay?" Kurt asked softly. Blaine nodded, clearing his throat as delicately as he could, wishing that the connection would crackle a little more so it wouldn't be quite so obvious that he was upset.

"It's great to see you again," he admitted.

Kurt hummed, shifting around until his back was pressed against one of the posts rising out of the floor, a soft expression on his face. "I miss you every day," he said softly.

Blaine swallowed, offering a weak smile in response. "Aren't you supposed to be out gallivanting across the city and ignoring the fact that you have a small-town boyfriend waiting at home?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" Kurt retorted playfully. "Besides, Rachel's out with some of her friends. It's just us."

"Just us," Blaine repeated.

"So, what do you want to talk about?" Kurt asked, plucking another truffle from the box beside him, careful not to let his laptop fall from its perch on his knees. "From your texts, it sounds like things have been pretty crazy around there."

"They have," Blaine agreed, giving Kurt a hashed version of the Britney debacle during the Friday afternoon assembly and Mr. Schue's warning about potential disqualification. Kurt's expression sobered even as he shook his head.

"They can't disqualify you over that," he insisted. "It wasn't a formal competition."

"It was a public appearance," Blaine sighed, suddenly bone-weary of the arguments that had been chasing themselves around in his head for hours now. It was only ten at night but, after spending countless evenings wondering if Kurt would call and being bitterly disappointed by his silence instead, he was feeling the exhaustion after a long day of flopped performances and reprimands and promises to regroup. Even Puck's visit hadn't been enough to bolster his mood. He was grateful that the former New Directions' member had stopped by to entertain the rest of the group for a while, taking their mind off things while he caught up on some much needed sleep. He winced a little as he thought about the brusque way that he'd treated Sam's offer to take him home. It had been nice, having someone else there to rely on. Offering minimal instructions on the way, Blaine had been able to almost slip into a doze by the time Sam pulled into his driveway. It occurred to him belatedly that Sam's place wasn't anywhere near his own, offering apologies even while the latter waved them off.

"It's fine, dude," he'd said, ushering Blaine inside his own home as though he feared that he'd take off for Cheerios' practice if left to mull on the idea for too long. "I can walk."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," Sam had assured, offering a slight wave as he left Blaine in the middle of the room and slipped outside again, his footsteps silenced immediately by the closed door.

Blaine looked out his window where a steady rain was now falling, hoping that Sam had made it home before the storm. He'd have to ask Artie tomorrow about it; he would know how far away Sam's place was. Maybe Blaine could repay him sometime by buying him a coffee. Or babysitting his younger siblings for the night.

"What are you thinking about?" Kurt asked softly, his voice slightly static-y over the line.

Blaine shrugged a little, looking back at him and smiling. "Just . . . how lucky I am."

Kurt arched an eyebrow a little, inviting him to say more, but Blaine just shook his head.

"So, Mr. Lucky, why the long face?"

Blaine shook his head again, resting his cheek against his palm. "I skipped Cheerios' practice today."

Kurt lifted both eyebrows this time, looking genuinely surprised. "Feeling rebellious today, are we?"

Chuckling, Blaine shrugged, enjoying the way Kurt's eyes crinkled in the corners with his smile. "Puck stopped by after Glee practice," he said simply. "We got caught up in his LA adventures, and by the time we were done. . . ." He trailed off.

"I see," Kurt hummed. "So, are you going to go tomorrow?"

"Probably," Blaine admitted, ignoring the way his ankle gave a mutinous throb in protest. He had it balanced against one of his pillows, having soaked it for a few hours before waiting for Kurt's call, flipping absentmindedly through his playlist for inspiration. He jotted down a few ideas for sectionals, resolutely refusing to believe that they wouldn't be competing, before almost falling off his bed in surprise when Kurt had finally called him.

"Brace yourself for Coach Sylvester's wrath," Kurt warned. "She can be a little . . . psychotic at times about how the Cheerios are run."

"A little?" Blaine repeated dryly. He could almost picture the way that Kurt would lean over and punch his shoulder lightly in response, settling for rolling his eyes on screen.

"Okay, so she's bat-shit crazy," he said, startling a laugh out of Blaine.

"That sounds more accurate."

Kurt hummed, pouting when he reached over for another truffle and returned empty-handed. "You're not allowed to tell Rachel I sampled the truffles Brody gave her," he added, the screen wobbling a little as he capped the box and set it aside off-screen.

"Why would I ever do that?" Blaine asked in a murmur, smiling at him. "You've got a rebellious streak of your own, you know."

"Isn't it great?" Kurt said, beaming from ear to ear. "I love it here. I feel like I'm on my way to fame and fortune already."

"Is that what you want?" Blaine asked, genuinely curious.

"I want notoriety," Kurt admitted with a wry smirk. "I want my name to be out there, Blaine. In a good way!" he hurried to add. "I don't want to end up on, like, America's Top Wanted or something."

"You could pull of criminally attractive sai swordsman pretty well," Blaine said musingly.

"I miss those," Kurt said, pouting a little. "I haven't practiced in weeks. I'd probably flay someone with them right now if I tried. I need to hone my skills again."

"Why do you even practice them, anyway?"

Kurt's cheeks pinked, the slightly delayed reaction making the contrast all the more stark as he shook his head. "No, no, no, no, that's one trip down memory lane that I'm not going down."

"Come on," Blaine urged, amused at his reaction. "Tell me. I promise not to spill all your secrets to Rachel behind your back."

Kurt eyed him doubtfully for several long moments, his cheeks still pink as he said quickly, "I had a crush on the Raphael the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle when I was a kid."

Blaine blinked. "You what?"

Kurt sighed, repeating the statement more slowly, a grin stretching across Blaine's face as he did so. "Really?"

"Shush," Kurt ordered.

"Not judging," Blaine promised, lifting a hand as though to demonstrate his innocence. He glanced over a rumble of thunder shook the window, returning his attention to the screen a moment later. "What's it like there?" he asked, resting his head on his hands.

"It's quiet," Kurt admitted. "I mean, as quiet as New York ever is. There's still all the traffic and screaming people, but other than that, it's nice."

"Already used to the hustle and bustle?" Blaine asked.

"Only you would call it hustle and bustle," Kurt retorted dryly. "And I'm adapting. This still kind of feels like one big dream sequence, but I'm willing to bet that you're not some holographic boyfriend my mind has conjured to amuse me on quiet nights like this, so I'm going to take a stab at it and say this is real."

"It's real," Blaine reassured softly. "It's very, very real, Kurt."

Kurt smiled a little, reaching out unthinkingly to squeeze his hand. A lump formed in Blaine's throat as he realized that Kurt couldn't actually touch him through the screen, settling for lifting his own hand and pressing it against the monitor briefly.

"I wish you were here," Kurt said wistfully, pulling his hand away as Blaine reluctantly did the same. "It really isn't the same without you."

"You'll get used to it," Blaine assured, silently hoping that he wouldn't. Mutinously hoping that he would continue to ache with the same desire to see Blaine every day just as he longed for Kurt.

"I might at that," Kurt hummed. "But until then, I still expect you to answer my phone calls and for you to call me if you ever need me, okay?"

Blaine swallowed a little, his mouth suddenly dry, before nodding once. "I promise," he said softly.

Kurt nodded, appearing satisfied, before sighing softly. "I hate to leave you like this, B, but I've got an interview with Vogue dot com in the morning," he said, his voice dropping into the low, easy register that he adopted when he was tired. "Can we talk soon?"

"Whenever you want," Blaine assured softly, seriously.

Kurt smiled at him, playfully blowing a kiss at him. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Blaine said, closing his eyes when Kurt finished with a soft, "Good night," that he echoed. Kurt's screen went blank a moment later, Blaine staring at his laptop and swallowing back the immediate urge to try and reconnect with him, to reach out and know that he was there again.

Because Kurt wasn't there, no matter how much Blaine wanted him to be, and for at least another nine months, he would have to survive the reality that they were a thousand miles apart and not drifting any closer.


	8. Chapter 8

"Does it ever get easier?"

Blaine frowned as he sat across from Tina at one of the small corner tables in the Lima Bean, looking over at her and nursing a cup of coffee. "Does what get easier?"

Tina sighed, sipping her iced latte and waving a hand airily. "Not being in a relationship."

Blaine's hand froze mid-way to a packet of sugar. "Tina, Kurt and I . . . we're still dating."

"For now," Tina finished with a long-suffering sigh. "Mike told me the same thing before he left. We could either pretend that being hundreds of miles apart wouldn't affect our relationship, or we could move on and deal with the consequences." She stirred her iced latte with a straw, shaking her head as she took another long sip. "Now we're both single, and I don't feel any happier because of it."

"You could try calling him?" Blaine suggested, slowly tearing a sugar packet open and pouring its contents into his coffee. "I'm sure he'd love to hear from you again."

Tina sighed. "He never answers," she said bitterly. "I've already left dozens of messages on his voice mail. I'm tired of talking to empty air."

Picking up another sugar packet and surreptitiously pouring it into his coffee, Blaine bit his lip. "Is there anything I can do?" He reached over for one of the coffee straws to stir his medium drip, taking a small sip before wrinkling his nose and grabbing another sugar packet.

"I don't know," Tina admitted, sounding more harried than Blaine had ever heard her. "I want things to be normal again, you know? I miss everyone."

Unthinkingly, Blaine fished out another sugar packet and tore it open, sprinkling it into his coffee cup. He knew that feeling well. "I know," he said softly. "It's hard, but we'll get through this." He reached across the table and gave her hand a light squeeze before retracting it so he could pick up a half-half, pouring it into his coffee. "We knew it was going to be hard to say goodbye to everyone. Not everything has to change. Just . . . give it time?"

She eyed him doubtfully for several moments, saying nothing. Without warning, she reached over and grabbed his hand before he could pour another half-half in his coffee, her expression a mixture of soft and stern. "It's probably already toxic, but I don't want the acid to melt through the table," she said dryly, nodding at his coffee.

Blaine frowned, lifting his cup and taking a sip. It was only through an extraordinary effort of willpower that made him swallow instead of spitting out the overly sweet concoction. "Oh, wow," he said, shuddering as he set it aside. "Guess I should go grab another one." He got up to do so, asking, "Do you want anything?"

"I prefer Earl Grey, actually," a soft, smooth voice broke in.

Blaine's back stiffened as he turned to face Sebastian, his expression neutral. "I know we're not friends," Sebastian said, eyeing the two of them with borderline disdain but also a deep, heavy emotion that Blaine couldn't define. Regret, perhaps, or more likely regret that he had to act remorseful. "But consider this a peace offering."

He held out a cup of coffee. Blaine reflexively took it, staring at Sebastian blankly. "Why are you here?" he asked at last, setting the coffee down on the table.

"I thought I might find you here," he said simply.

"We're busy," Tina interjected dismissively.

Sebastian looked between the two of them, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Fine." Taking a neutral step back, he added without looking away from Blaine's gaze, "I'll see you around."

"I hope not," Blaine said quietly.

Turning around without another word, Sebastian left, weaving his way between tables until he reached the door and slipping out of it into the streets. Blaine didn't see him round the corner, instead turning back to Tina and sinking into the chair across from her again. "I really don't like that guy," he muttered, picking at the lid of his spoiled coffee absently.

"I'm not fond of him, either," Tina agreed, reaching out to give his hand another, more comforting squeeze. "At least you and Kurt are still going strong," she added, deliberately keeping her voice light as she changed the subject. It was a refreshing change, a glimpse of normal Tina instead of scary-and-admittedly-somewhat-bitchy Tina.

Blaine smiled and went along with it, detailing Kurt's living situation and his plans to intern with Vogue. He saw Tina's eyes widen slightly at that, her head tilting to one side in genuine curiosity. "He wants to work for Vogue?"

"Vogue dot com," Blaine corrected automatically. "It's a big network in the fashion industry."

"I know what it is," Tina said, rolling her eyes. "I just can't believe he actually applied for a job there. Aren't they like . . . ridiculously competitive about who gets an internship? And half of them are unpaid?"

"You move up the ranks," Blaine said. "It starts out unpaid, but if you do well enough and someone higher up likes you. . . ." He trailed off meaningfully, shrugging. "This is what he wants to do. If it's competitive, then he'll just have to work hard for it."

Tina was quiet for a time, absorbing that, before asking, "Is he still down about the whole not-getting-into-NYADA thing?"

Blaine sighed, shaking his head. "He's reapplying for next semester," he explained. "It's still a long-shot, but . . . it's worth taking a chance on."

Tina nodded. "I'm glad that he's doing so well," she said, the sincerity in her voice making some of the ache in Blaine's chest dissipate. Kurt and he had spent countless hours preparing for these moments, the times when they would be expected to carry on with their lives as though nothing was amiss. Most of the time, it was easy, focusing on school work and Glee club and everything in between. Whenever he did think about Kurt being gone - which still happened more often than he wanted to and still not often enough - it hurt, because he knew that no matter how many reassurances they made to each other, there was still the inescapable truth: they were still far, far away with no reprieve any time soon. Hearing Tina reassure him what he already knew - that Kurt was doing well, that he was happy, that he was finally starting to expand his life beyond the Ohio borders that had corralled him for far too long - made him ache with pride and despair.

"I'm not sure which is worse," Tina broke in quietly, "missing someone and knowing that you shouldn't, or missing them when there's nothing you can do to change it."

Blaine swallowed. That hit even closer to home than he cared to admit. "You can change it," he said at last. "If you want to be with Mike, then . . . no one is stopping you."

"Except Mike," Tina pointed out dryly.

"He probably has a lot on his mind," Blaine reminded, keeping his tone as gentle and non-combative as possible. "Just give him time. It's only been a couple weeks."

Tina sighed. "I know. It feels like years."

"It does," Blaine agreed. His phone vibrated before he could say anything else on the matter; he rolled his eyes in fond exasperation when he saw who it was. "Speak of the devil," he said dryly, unable to stop a smile from crossing his face. "Hey, Kurt."

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"It's Sunday," Blaine reminded dryly. "No classes, remember?"

"Right, right."

"Have fun, loverboy," was all Tina said, waving slightly as she got up. Blaine lifted his own hand in a wave, smiling ruefully and mouthing, Sorry! even as Kurt rattled off the news that Rachel and he had finally found a store that sold paint cheaply enough that even they could afford it. Blaine smiled and listened, occasionally making an affirmative noise as Kurt rambled on and on.

Blaine tucked his phone between his shoulder and ear as he got up, dumping both cups of coffee in the trash and approaching the counter, quickly rattling off an order and listening to Kurt talk. There was a pause and then Kurt yelped and told him that he had to go, he was getting another call, and Blaine shushed him and told him he would talk to him soon and hung up.

The barista slid two cups of coffee across the counter to him a moment later.

Blaine sighed, picking up the medium drip and nonfat mocha silently. Some things, at least, never changed.

"What's with all the confetti?" Sam asked, frowning, as he stepped into the choir room.

Blaine was wondering the same thing, seated in the front row and scanning the official show choir rule book. Mr. Schue had been kind enough to loan him one on his request. He'd spent the better part of his morning history class skim-reading it, looking for anything that would prevent them from competing because of the Britney debacle. Thankfully, his findings had lead him to one infallible truth: informal performances were not considered in the judging process at formal competitions. As long as that condition held, then he knew that they would still be able to compete. It relieved some of the aching tension in his shoulders, allowing him to relax for what felt like the first time in days.

Nevertheless, with one mystery solved, it seemed, another one had arisen. Blaine had dropped by the choir room early, hoping to avoid an unpleasant run-in with Sue Sylvester in the hallways. Artie had tipped him off that morning that she had been in an impressively bad mood, and he had avoided her since, hoping that maybe he'd be able to make it through Cheerios' practice without drawing her attention to himself. Instead of running into the cheerleading coach, he had stepped into what looked like a confetti warzone.

"I don't know," he admitted, snapping the rule book shut and setting it aside, waiting for the rest of the Glee clubbers to arrive. "I think - "

"I'm senior class president."

Blaine startled, nearly losing his balance on his chair at the unexpected voice, whirling around to face Brittany. "How long have you been here?"

"I forgot which class I had next so I came in here and waited until the bell rang," Brittany said with a shrug.

"So, wait, you're . . . back in the New Directions?" Sam hedged, inching forward around the confetti on the floor.

"And the Cheerios."

Blaine's eyebrows shot up. "How'd you manage that?"

"I'm class president," Brittany repeated, shrugging from where she was sitting on the ground next to the top row of chairs. "I can do whatever I want."

"I'm pretty sure that's not how it works," Sam pointed out, leaning against the piano and surveying the room.

"Coach Sylvester said that I had to improve my grades to be on the Cheerios," Brittany explained.

"And that relates to being class president . . . how?" Blaine asked.

Brittany shrugged. "It doesn't," she said simply.

Blaine's brow furrowed while Sam shot him a skeptical look.

"So you're . . . back on the Cheerios because you improved your grades?"

Brittany nodded.

"That's . . . great, Britt," Blaine said. "But why the change-of-heart about the New Directions?"

Brittany's expression sobered, her gaze slightly downcast. "I want to be back in Glee club," she explained softly. "I know that . . . I ruined the assembly, but I miss Santana and being in Glee club is the closest I'm going to get to spending time with her. So I want to be back in."

Blaine opened his mouth to say that that didn't make much sense, but Sam put a restraining hand on his shoulder as he stepped forward, walking up the tiers and sitting down beside Brittany. "So, you want to be back in Glee club because it makes you feel closer to Santana?"

"That, and I want to be the next Brittany S. Pierce."

"You didn't seem to want it during the assembly," Sam pointed out gently.

Brittany looked down at her hands, an uncharacteristically abashed gesture. "I shouldn't have eaten cheese puffs on stage."

"No," Blaine agreed, turning in his seat to look at both of them. "You shouldn't." Then, after a slight pause, he asked, "Are you sure you want this? Us? Because we can't afford to have another incident like that."

"I promise to never lip-sync again," Brittany vowed.

Sam and Blaine exchanged a look before Sam sighed slightly and put his arm around her shoulders. "We're not mad at you," he assured, "but . . . you kind of owe the Glee club an apology for this one, Brittany."

She leaned against him, nodding slightly. "I will," she said. "I know that . . . you should hate me but you don't, and I don't want to mess that up."

Blaine nodded. "We don't hate you," he agreed softly.

"Totally," Sam said.

Brittany looked between them, a tiny smile quirking her lips. "Thank you," she said simply.

After a pause, she added, "And I wanted to use confetti for my dramatic re-entrance as senior class president, but it didn't have the same effect as I wanted."

"You're supposed to throw confetti as you walk in," Sam pointed out.

"Aren't there elections for senior class president?" Blaine added, frowning a little.

Brittany shrugged. "I was senior class president last year," she said. "Since I haven't graduated, I'm still senior class president."

Blaine hummed softly, turning back in his seat to face the front as Tina and Artie entered together, bickering amiably about song selections. "We'll see," was all he said.

"You're letting her back in?" Unique demanded, one eyebrow lifted incredulously.

"Brittany has agreed to abide by the rules from now on," Mr. Schue said, looking over at where Brittany was standing next to him.

Unique shook her head. "So, that's it? She's back in?"

"She's back in," Mr. Schue echoed.

"Mm," Unique huffed, looking between the two of them. "I still don't see how this is going to work," she insisted.

"Relax," Marley said, putting a placating hand on Unique's arm. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Fine isn't good enough," Unique reminded sharply. "If we want to be the best show choir in the country, we need to be perfection."

"Now she sounds like Jesse St. James," Sam muttered to Blaine.

"That man was a monster," Unique sniffed without looking at them. "I'm trying to keep this ship from sinking before it's even set sail."

"We're not a sinking ship," Mr. Schue said firmly. "All right? Just because we lost half our group doesn't mean we're out of this."

"Mm," Unique repeated doubtfully, shaking her head. "If you say so."

"Definitely Jesse St. James," Blaine told Sam in a murmur.


	9. Chapter 9

"Are you okay?"

Blaine looked up from where he had been absentmindedly stretching out after Cheerios' practice that afternoon, shrugging. Coach Sylvester had grilled him hard for not attending practice on Friday, including loudly calling him out on his ineptitude and inability to function on even the most basic intellectual capacities, but it hadn't been anything unexpected. He was used to the near constant abuse from the cheerleading coach at that point. He would have been more disconcerted if she had arrived cheerful and congratulatory. The fact that she had made him do extra sit-ups and push-ups and laps had only made him more determined to keep pace with the rest.

"You look kind of pale," Sam said, leaning against the locker room door slightly, one hand carrying what appeared to be a loaded duffel bag. "Football," he added at Blaine's inquiring glance. He grunted once in response, relaxing from a hamstring stretch and straightening to his feet. At least his ankle hadn't given him any problems over the weekend; he had been careful to stay off his feet as much as possible, working on possible campaign strategies for his class presidential campaign instead.

It wasn't that he was actively invested in it yet but, like the Cheerios, once the idea had been implanted in his head, he couldn't quite shake it. Brittany's prom theme last year hadn't irked him too badly, but her hair gel ban had rankled him, especially when the noticeable lack of enforcement of other, also non-prehistoric-themed relics were allowed in without complaint. He knew that it was ridiculous - that anyone that valued appearances over personality wasn't someone he was interested in talking to, anyway - but it had been unnerving, going into a situation like that looking with the hair equivalent of a fog light. Drawing attention to himself had been the last thing on his mind, and even his last-minute impression of an ice sculpture (which, for one inane moment, he had almost hoped Brittany would believe) hadn't been enough to spare him the indignity of washing the gel out and reappearing, bushy-haired and all.

So it had stayed with him, festered in him a little, and he'd spent a few hours going through McKinley's records to see what kind of requirements were needed to be class president. They were shockingly slim - a pulse and some proof that he was a current William McKinley High student met the bill. Of course, most of the previous presidents had been slightly more audacious, some even inspiring minor changes within the McKinley high system itself (Blaine had stared hard at one Evan Staple that had suggested slushies be added to the school lunch menu).

It wasn't something he had meant to seriously consider but, over the course of four hours and endless waiting for the results of Kurt's Vogue interview, a plan had manifested itself within him. A plan to win the class presidency, regardless of what it took.

"Dude," Sam said, snapping his fingers in front of his face. Blaine jerked as though he had fired a cannon, almost off-balancing himself enough to trip over the bench in the center of the aisle. Sam steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, easing him down onto the same bench a moment later. "Stay there," he ordered.

Blaine opened his mouth to tell him that he was being ridiculous, Sue always worked her Cheerios hard and none of them had a problem with it, he just needed a few minutes to catch his breath and stretch his muscles back into their rightful shapes. Before he could say any of this, the former quarterback was draping a damp wash cloth over the back of his neck, handing him a bottle of water. Blaine eyed it doubtfully before popping the lid and taking a sip, deciding that if it was someone else's, then sharing it still wouldn't be worse than a slushy facial.

"You're probably dehydrated," Sam added, leaning against the lockers across from him, his arms folded. Blaine wished that he wouldn't - it looked uncomfortably patronizing, even though he was fairly certain that Sam didn't intend it to come across that way - but the more he sipped at the lukewarm water the better it tasted. "Coach Sylvester works you guys way too hard out there."

"All the others manage fine," Blaine murmured, unable to help himself.

"They've had years of experience with this," Sam retorted, stepping forward and crouching down so that he could meet Blaine's gaze instead. Blaine returned the look, unsure if he preferred patronizing or sympathetic. "They know to take breaks and drink lots of water. I see how hard you work out there. It's great to be passionate about something, but you've gotta pace yourself. You don't win the big game by passing out at halftime."

Blaine huffed at the allusion, shaking his head as he passed him the now-empty water bottle. "Is that all you came to say?" he asked, hating that his voice still sounded dry of all things.

"No," Sam said. He shifted so that he was sitting on the bench beside him, sighing as he dug into his duffel bag and pulled out another water bottle. "Drink that," he ordered.

Blaine wrinkled his nose.

"I'm not leaving until you do," Sam said simply, leaning back on one hand, the other holding the water bottle out invitingly.

Blaine rolled his eyes, getting up and sitting back down hard a moment later. Wordlessly, he took the water bottle and cracked it open, taking a slow drag from it.

"You're falling apart, dude," Sam said, his voice taking on a quieter, almost gentle tone. "I barely even saw you today because you're running around so much."

"We have Glee together," Blaine pointed out. "Two hours together isn't enough for you?"

"Not when you're killing yourself on the sidelines, it isn't," Sam retorted. Then, running a hand through his own hair, he sighed. "Look, I get that you're a . . . a self-sufficient guy and everything, but no one gets through everything alone, and even I can see that something's up. And honestly? I'm not that perceptive of a guy, Blaine."

"You seem to have picked up on another," Blaine said stiffly. He passed him the empty water bottle, getting up again. His legs were steady underneath him. He allowed himself a small smile of relief. "Thank you," he added perfunctorily, turning to leave.

"What is it?" Sam asked. Something in the tone of his voice stopped Blaine, kept him from moving forward as the latter stood up beside him. "Do you . . . miss the Warblers or something?"

Blaine's throat tightened a little even as he shook his head. "No," he said simply, walking over to the still-open locker he had been using and pulling out his bag, stuffing his Cheerios' uniform into it. "I don't miss them."

"But you do miss Kurt."

Blaine's hand paused on the doorjamb, one foot out the door. It would be easy, altogether too simple to keep moving, to keep walking until he was out of sight and Sam was out of mind.

Easy, but impossible. He couldn't move. Not when thoughts of Kurt never calling back to say how the interview had gone were still fresh in his mind. Not when the simple I got in! text had arrived at eight o'clock the next morning in the middle of his history class, almost earning him a detention at the loud, unexpected noise. Not when it was still too new, too raw to consider the idea that maybe Kurt hadn't realized that he had waited, breathless and hopeful, for his response all night until he'd dozed off around four in the morning, only to be woken that same day at six by his alarm.

No, nothing like that.

"We're fine," he said, willing himself to believe it as much as Sam.

"Are you sure?" Soft, contradictory. But not accusing. Surprisingly.

Blaine closed his eyes, his fingertips barely digging into the metal of the door frame before he pulled them back, nodding once. "I'm sure." He stepped out the door, letting it clang shut behind him.

Kurt had had a busy day. A long night. An exciting morning ahead. It hadn't been surprising, really, that he had forgotten to respond to one text, one phone call, one Skype date.

All of that was normal. Expected. The growing pains of a long distance relationship, if you will.

It was okay.

Everything was okay.

Blaine closed his eyes, and willed himself to believe.

It didn't get easier.

The lying. The pretending.

Blaine could almost feel himself slipping away as he went through the motions, trying to keep things from crashing down around him.

Unique, at least, was easy to please. Let her handle all the choreography and at least two of the showstoppers and she would happily trot along at his heels.

Brittany was another matter entirely. Blaine didn't know how she was adjusting to being back on the Cheerios, aside from being surprisingly dedicated to it. He had actually noticed an improvement in her performances over the next week, so much so that he began to realize exactly why Coach Sylvester had kicked her off the team before. It hadn't been that she had been 'garbage,' but the difference between a willing, motivated team member and someone that had lost interest in the sport was immense. Even her grades, it seemed, had continued to improve, although maintaining a C- average wasn't something that Blaine would have personally considered a triumph. At least it made her academically eligible for graduation; he silently hoped that the sudden, intense wave of motivation would last.

Artie and Tina stayed out of his way for the most part, seeming to sense the nervous energy radiating off him. Blaine tried to contain it, but he knew that his temper was shorter and his edginess slightly more obvious than before. He started boxing again after Cheerios' practices to compensate; the consequent exhaustion usually knocked him out for at least four hours, during which time he could catch up on some much-needed rest before anxiously awaiting word from Kurt. He had done his best to keep him in the loop on the latest dramas - Kurt had insisted on it, after all, and Blaine wasn't about to break his word, regardless of how tired he felt when he typed out the brief reports - even though Kurt's receptiveness hadn't been the best.

Growing pains of a long-distance relationship. That was all. They would get over them and through them and then they would be hate-teaming Treme again as though nothing was amiss.

It wasn't until he fell asleep in the middle of Glee club rehearsal that he finally conceded that he might have a problem.

He awoke to someone turning a page, blinking in surprise when he realized that there was a warm shoulder underneath his cheek, a slim, feminine shoulder that most definitely did not belong to the boyfriend he had been half-dreaming about. Letting out a soft groan of frustration, he lifted his head, wincing at the strain in his neck.

"You can't keep doing this."

Blaine sighed. "Please don't do this."

"You can't keep shutting us out," Marley insisted, putting a hand on his knee and snapping her copy of The Great Gatsby shut one-handedly. "No one makes it through life alone. No one."

"I'm not alone," Blaine snapped. His voice lacked heat, however, and he knew that she could hear that.

"You're trying to be," Marley said softly. He stiffened, moving to pull away when she lifted her hand to his cheek, forcing him to look at her. "Your boyfriend loves you."

He swallowed once, dryly, involuntarily. "I know," he said. It didn't sound any stronger.

"You're not alone," she added emphatically.

Again, the words fell from his lips, barely there: "I know."

When she hugged him a moment later, he didn't pull away; he held her back, burying his face against her hair.

It was like one breath of fresh air in a world of suffocation.

Relief. One sharp, pure, second of relief.

And then it was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

Buck up, Blaine Anderson.

Stepping up to the sign up sheet, Blaine jotted his name down underneath the sole, crayoned signature of his opponent, ignoring the way his fingers trembled slightly as he did so. He wanted this. He could do this. There was nothing wrong with it, either, and why shouldn't he run for student class president? Just because Kurt had tried and failed didn't mean that he was doomed to the same fate. The fact that Kurt had previously tried at all didn't mean that he was somehow attempting to live vicariously through his past. If such a thing was even possible. He was just . . . doing it for himself. Doing it to make a point, he decided, to make the difference that Kurt hadn't been able to.

To stop the bullying.

Which, he reflected, was a legitimate concern for him. The jocks had already resumed slushying the Glee club members at every opportunity. It was only a matter of time before locker shoves and dumpster dives were re-instated as well. The brief reprieve had made Blaine careless, and he had suffered for it. Just that morning a hockey jock had tossed a green apple slushy down his back. While he had thankfully been able to remove most of the coloring from his navy polo and dark pants, he knew that it would take a much more thorough washing at home if he wanted to get rid of the last vestiges of the stain. And the stench. He wrinkled his nose at the matter of cold ice piercing the back of his neck, dripping down his back slowly until it reached his waist line. (Thank God he had chosen to wear a belt that day. He didn't even want to consider the consequences if he hadn't.)

Bringing a spare change of clothes to school was almost natural for him, given how much Kurt had emphasized the point while he was still at McKinley. He liked the security that fresh, sharp clothes gave him. Had it not been for Kurt, he knew, he would have spent more than one day in miserable discomfort, cold slushy pressed against various parts of his torso and back. Instead, he felt presidential, strong and confident as he sauntered down the hall and stopped in front of the sign up board. His name reflected back at him from a dozen different clipboards, usually the third or fourth down the line. It gave him a sense of pride to see how actively involved he was, a sense of meaningfulness. So he wasn't the most popular kid in school. At least no one could say that he hadn't made a dent.

Which, he realized, was what he wanted. To make a dent. To be something. He didn't know what that was yet - he didn't even know what came next - but he wanted to do something memorable in his high school career. While Glee club had been amazing, it was also a thing of the past. They were national champions last year. A repeat performance would be unprecedented for the New Directions and nearly impossible to attain with their diminished forces. Blaine had already had to speak to Mr. Schue after Glee club practice to see if he was interested in recruiting any more members. The teacher had dismissed him with casual assurances that they would be fine and, while Blaine wasn't entirely convinced, he respected that his authority as the New Rachel had limits and pushing them could antagonize people he didn't want to antagonize. Namely Mr. Schue. Who could easily revoke said authority and condemn him to background singing for the season.

Blaine shuddered at the thought, sliding the pen back through the top part of the clipboard. He knew that he had already had more experience as a singer in high school than most Glee clubbers were given, but the prospect of being benched for his senior year unsettled him. Five long years in high school had accumulated to this. In a way, he sympathized with Brittany more than he cared to admit. Having transferred from public school to Dalton Academy at the tail end of his freshman year, he'd been forced to repeat his sophomore year after failing the first time around. He'd fallen in love with Dalton for its zero-tolerance harassment policies and learned to endure the academic challenges. If ever there had been a time when he'd felt out of place, it had been that first year at Dalton. By his second time around the sophomore block, Wes and David had forcibly dragged him to a Warbler's audition where, amazingly, he had been accepted. At the time, the Warblers had been a tour de force, winning local competitions with the ease of a seasoned champion. Blaine had feared that he would hold them back more than propel them forward, but with some coaching and more failed auditions, he had landed his first solo and proven his worth ever since.

Still, the Warblers didn't have as much influence on his life anymore. Wes and David had graduated, and the rest were a mixture of freshmen and juniors that he didn't know. And Sebastian. It rankled him that he still couldn't read the senior half as well as he wanted to. While his apology at the Lima Bean had sounded genuine, Blaine had been skeptical to accept such a belated response to the rock salt slushy. Three weeks of torture weren't easily forgiven, and aside from that brief session, Sebastian hadn't reached out to him again to express remorse.

Unless buying you coffee counted?

Shaking his head to himself, Blaine looked over the sheet one last time, then nodded and stepped back.

"What do you think you're doing, Blaine Warbler?"

Blaine turned slowly to face Brittany. She was decked out in her Cheerios' uniform, holding her binders close to her chest. Her gaze was unwavering on his, but he had the distinct impression that she had been watching him sign his name and knew exactly what he had been up to. He offered her a smile as he realized that, yes, it was official: "I'm running for president." He kept smiling even as he stepped around her and continued down the hallway. It felt good, in an a refreshing sort of way, to challenge someone. Even if it was only Brittany.

He'd made it halfway to his locker when Marley intercepted him, stepping out of the crowd milling sluggishly down the hall and linking her arm through his. Without asking waiting for permission, she dragged him into an empty classroom, hip-checking the door shut behind herself and turning to face him with her arms folded.

"You want to be senior class president?" she demanded. He couldn't read the emotions on her face. Anger seemed fairly prominent among them, surprising him.

Still, he kept his smile in place and his voice calm as he said, "I do."

"On top of everything else?"

His brow furrowed, comprehension trickling into his consciousness. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly, leaning back against one of the empty desks behind him.

She rolled her eyes, pulling out a stack of papers from her book-bag "You signed up for every extracurricular activity on the board. Including Zombie Survival Club."

"The Mayans predicted the end of the world this year; I want to be prepared," he retorted loftily, taking the papers from her hands and setting them back on the desk behind him. "Besides, costuming is an important aspect of any show choir's regimen, and the extra practice helps."

"You're already working four days after school a week on the cheerleading squad," she pointed out.

"Which leaves me with three full days that I'm not working on cheerleading," Blaine countered, rolling his eyes. "Why are you so concerned about it? You can join them, too, if you want." He picked up the sheaf and held it out to her, half-expecting her to take it.

Marley eyed him doubtfully for several long, silent moments, at last reaching over and taking the papers from him. "If you keel over in the middle of Glee club practice again, I'm letting you lie on the floor," she warned, reaching over to bop him on the head lightly. "Good luck, by the way."

Blaine frowned, reaching up to pat his hair back down where it had been mussed up. "With what?"

"Your campaign for class president," Marley replied, nudging the door open and stepping back into the hallway, vanishing around the corner.

Blaine sighed, leaning back against a desk before following her. She was already out of sight by the time he scanned the hallway, leaving him to make the lonely trek to his first class.

It wasn't like he had been trying to fill every spare minute of his life with activity. It had just happened. Boxing and cheerleading were great, but he knew that physical activity on top of Glee club practice was wearing on him and too noticeable besides. Sam and Marley had both already expressed doubts about his ability to handle himself, and he wasn't about to give them further proof to support their theory. Thus, he substituted boxing with other clubs. Sewing Club and Zombie Survival Club were only two of a plethora of new interests that he had accumulated over the week. He enjoyed some and tolerated others, snatching opportunities as they arose and suited his needs. It wasn't the healthiest way of dealing with his loneliness, but it worked. He hadn't left school before seven in almost a week, and between academics and chatting with Kurt on a semi-regular basis, he remained in a near constant state of activity.

But it wasn't enough. All the clubs were superficial, substitutes for real distractions. He could run around in a makeshift Robin costume all day, but it still didn't change the fact that most of his thoughts trailed forlornly back to the fact that outside of McKinley, he didn't have much going for him. Cooper was back in LA for filming his latest line of credit rating commercials, his parents worked late every night at their law firm, and his social life had shrunk drastically since the peak of his Dalton days. With no one to keep him occupied, he hated being at his own house, searching endlessly for ways to fill his time.

He couldn't keep it up forever, but he would be damned if he quit four weeks into the school year.

Soldiering onward, he had been almost grateful for Sue Sylvester's brutality at practices. Their first competition was a goal to work towards - a constant reminder that he had worth and value in a real, tangible way - and it had kept his thoughts firmly from straying to unwanted topics. Like the fact that Kurt needed space to adjust to his new living quarters in New York and not an overactive boyfriend. With his Vogue dot com interview coming up, Kurt had been busier than ever, attempting to simultaneously perfect himself before the interview as well as brace himself for the imminent possibility that he wouldn't get the job. Blaine had done his best to be supportive during their late-night phone calls, trying to emphasize how glad he was that Kurt was taking chances and putting himself out there even if it didn't work out perfectly.

He was proud of him. Really, really proud of Kurt.

Sometimes he just wanted to be proud of himself, too.

"Blaine Anderson, former Warbler and new leader of the New Directions, what do you have to say to the rumor that you're running against the beloved Miss Pierce this year for senior class president?"

"It's not a rumor," Blaine said, shutting his locker and doing his best to ignore the way that Jacob Ben Israel and his cameraman had crowded into his space as he shouldered his satchel. "That's all I have to say," he added, turning and striding down the hall.

"Rumor also has it that your gayness can't compete with Brittany's pledges to go topless on Tuesdays."

"No comment."

"Is it true that your hair gel is bullet-proof?"

"I don't think I'd like to find out," Blaine said dryly, unable to help himself as he quickened his pace in a vain attempt to make it to Glee club before the bell rang without Jacob Ben Israel's crew following him.

No such luck. The bell rang, anyway, and he saw that neither Jacob nor his friends were in any rush to abandon their quarry. "According to the latest buzz on the Blogosphere, your college beau has been keeping himself busy in New York, allegedly sleeping with - "

"Kurt isn't sleeping with anyone," Blaine cut in sharply, turning to face Jacob and ignoring the way that the sound speaker poked the side of his head. "Don't talk about him on your blog."

"A scorned lover's spite is - "

"None of your business," Sam finished emphatically, flicking the power button on Jacob's camera off. "Scram."

"Don't touch my camera," Jacob said, flicking the camera back on.

"Don't harass my boy," Sam retorted, forcibly turning Blaine away from him and walking them down the hall. "Ass," he added loudly, rolling his eyes. "I can't believe he's still doing those blog posts after what Brittany did to him."

Blaine bristled, secretly resenting the intervention even while he was grateful for it. He'd known that Kurt wasn't exactly popular at McKinley, but to still hear them talk about him even after he'd left was almost enough to push him over the edge. He'd been too close to punching Jacob in the face, he realized, his fingers clenched into loose fists. He had to get a handle on himself.

"Me neither," was all he said, forcing a smile on his face when Mr. Schue beamed at them both, already turning to address the rest of the group as Sam pulled away and took a seat on the far side of the row. He slid into one at the bottom row, surreptitiously sliding his satchel into the next seat over.

"All right, guys," Mr. Schue said, clasping his hands together. "Let's talk sectionals."

"Blaine Warbler, I would like you to meet Sam Evans."

Blaine blinked, turning from where he had been organizing his locker and staring at the duo. "Um, we've actually met," he said, eyeing Sam doubtfully. "Several times."

"He's your new vice president," Brittany added, propelling Sam forward a little with a hand on his back. Sam smiled, sheepish and almost apologetic but still doing his best to look enthused about the idea. Which, Blaine realized, he was.

"Uh, no, I'm picking my own running mate," he said. Sam was a nice guy. Sam had a lot going for him personality wise. Sam was also straight, a jock, and a cheap toss at a popularity vote. Not to mention a former stripper. As much as Blaine appreciated what Sam had done for him and how much he genuinely seemed to care about him, he just couldn't run for president with him. It was too obvious what his intentions would be if he did, and he wasn't about to start that competition with Brittany. One, he liked Brittany, and he didn't want to offend her on a personal level if he won a blatant popularity contest. Two, he wasn't sure that he could win an open popularity contest against Brittany, and quitting before he'd even begun campaigning was not the way to win class presidency.

"Dude, come on," Sam insisted. "My family's on food stamps so we'll get the sympathy vote, I'm straight so we'll get the not-gay vote, and my impressions are hilarious one hundred percent of the time."

Blaine blinked.

"George Bush, come on."

"All right," he said, snappier than he meant to be but also decisive. "You're in."

"Awesome," Brittany said, smiling as Sam's face threatened to split with the intensity of his grin. "As our first act as candidates, Artie and I challenge you to a debate."

"You're on," Blaine said, puffing his chest up a little involuntarily at the thought. Debates. He could do those.

Sam leaned forward and for one inane moment Blaine actually thought he would kiss him on the cheek. "What's a debate?" he asked instead, his whisper carrying just enough that Blaine knew Brittany had heard.

Blaine closed his eyes, shut his locker, and grabbed Sam's arm, pulling him down the hall in the opposite direction. "Walk with me," was all he said. "I'll explain later."


	11. Chapter 11

Blaine paced the floor of the costuming room, holding up an index card in front of his face as he read aloud, "Overall test scores are down six percent since last year, how do you propose to fix that?"

Looking almost panicked, Sam answered, "Stop giving tests, they're hard and way too stressful."

By a supreme effort of will, Blaine didn't face-palm as he looked up. "We can't outlaw tests."

"Then stop giving finals," Sam rallied, shrugging. "Those are worse."

"I'm pretty sure we can't ban those, either," Blaine said, flipping to the next index card. He'd prepared a list of standard debate questions in the hope that Sam might surprise him. After three years at Dalton, Blaine knew more about high school debates than most facilitators of said events did. He had walked away from his brief foray into Speech and Debate at McKinley with several gold medals under his belt. (In public school, being able to form a single, definitive statement apparently qualified as "exceptional.")

So far, Sam hadn't surprised him. His answers were spirited if largely unhelpful, usually trailing off into a separate tangent entirely. Blaine wanted to be class president so that he could make a change at McKinley, and a strong running mate was crucial to his election. At least in a popularity contest Sam and Brittany would be neck-and-neck. Artie and he already brought seasoned argumentative skills to the table, but the one edge that he could gain over the Pierce-Abrams alliance would be to bring Sam up to speed. Brittany, he knew, would go in whatever direction suited her, but Sam could be coached, and Blaine wasn't about to give up without a fight.

"All right, here's a new one: how do you propose to cut back on the gross overuse of high cholesterol foods in the cafeteria?"

"Stop eating food." Then, apologetically: "Stop eating food in the cafeteria."

Blaine dropped the stack of index cards onto the nearest desk with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, but are you even trying at this point?"

"Dude, this stuff is hard," Sam retorted, hopping up so he could sit on top of the main desk at the front of the room. "You can't expect me to learn it all in one study hall."

"Maybe we should switch tactics," Blaine suggested, pacing the room as he looked around at the various props the costume department had left them. "We'll work on your debate skills later. For now, we need to get you more . . . presentable."

Sam pouted. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" he asked, tugging at one of the strings to his gray hoodie collar self-consciously.

"It's not presidential," Blaine said, digging through a rack of clothing near the closet. He heard the neat snick as each hanger was pressed down the line, dresses and other impossibilities quickly discarded. He paused as he found a line of suits, beaming as he pulled three off the rack and hooked them over his shoulder before riffling through the others. "We need you to look like you're serious for this to work," he added, tossing two more possibilities over his shoulder and grunting a little under their weight as he backed away. "Try these on," he added, walking over to Sam and handing him the suits.

Sam eyed them skeptically. "Are you sure we're allowed to use these?" he asked, smoothing the fabric of a dark blue jacket absentmindedly.

Blaine shrugged in a so-so way. "Costuming isn't very particular about what uses its props go towards, as long as they're returned in mint condition."

Sam stared at him blankly.

"If we don't break it, then it'll be fine," Blaine translated, making a shooing motion with his hands. "Go. Try. Now." There was a slight partisan separating a corner from the rest of the room. With a slight shrug of acquiescence, Sam promptly dropped the stack of suits on top of the desk that he had been sitting on (Blaine cringed at the amount of wrinkles that would cause) and unzipped his hoodie.

To Sam's credit, he didn't flinch or hesitate when it came to stripping out of his clothes in front of another openly gay man. Blaine stood aside and lifted an eyebrow archly at the gesture, unsure whether or not to be flattered by it. Most people tended to side-eye him when he admitted that he was gay as though it meant that every glance that he made in their direction was secretly an assessment of their assets. Despite numerous assurances to the contrary, the stereotype had persisted and he'd become accustomed to finding private areas to change in. It didn't bother him that he wasn't part of the chaos that ensued as boys fought for the prime showering spots or best lockers. He just accepted what was and moved on.

"Maybe I should go shirtless," Sam suggested, breaking into Blaine's reverie as he flexed. He had already pulled on a pair of black dress pants that seemed to fit him nicely enough. Blaine might have to consult Kurt on that one later for a more exact opinion. At least for the moment, they would work: relief coursed through Blaine at the thought. Half the outfit down, half to go. "You know. Add some dramatic flare."

"No," Blaine said sternly, handing him one of the crisp white shirts that he thought might fit him.

"Come on," Sam said, obediently tugging the proffered shirt over his shoulders and pushing his arms through the sleeves. Too big, Blaine saw immediately, even as Sam's hands moved reflexively to button it. He hurried to intercept him, shaking his head as he tugged it off. He handed him another white shirt without a word, watching as Sam pulled it on and nodding once in satisfaction. "Chicks dig it when guys go shirtless on stage," Sam wheedled, smiling hopefully at Blaine even as Blaine rolled his eyes and smoothed the collar down for him.

"We have to win both the male and female vote," he said reasonably. "It looks good," he added, since Sam seemed a little disheartened at the lack of praise. "You look . . . good. Professional. Now. Jacket."

"I could go for the whole macho buttoned down look," Sam argued, unbuttoning the top four buttons on his shirt and staring critically at himself in the mirror. He jaunted his hips back and let his shirt flare open, beaming even while Blaine tossed a navy jacket over his head. "All right, all right," he said, holding his hands up in a placating way as he wrestled the jacket into submission over his arms.

"Too dark," Blaine said at once, already tugging on his sleeve.

"I think it looks kind of nice," Sam protested. He reluctantly shrugged out of it, accepting a light blue jacket and tugging it on. Blaine cocked his head to one side, staring at him in the mirror before shaking his head again. Sam sighed, shimmied out of it, and handed it back. Picking up one of the dark blue jackets instead, Blaine handed it to him and watched as he tugged it over his shoulders.

"I like it," Sam said at once, almost daring Blaine to defy him.

Blaine rolled his eyes in silent amusement. "It'll work," he agreed. "For the debate."

Sam turned partially to one side and smiled at his reflection in the mirror, adopting an almost regal stance. "I like it," he repeated.

"Good," was all Blaine said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Now let's try and get you ready for the actual debate, shall we?"

"That's . . . amazing, Kurt," Blaine said sincerely, his laptop perched in front of him as he watched his boyfriend shuffle around on screen. It was late - almost eleven - but he didn't have anything better to do and Kurt's unexpected invitation to Skype had been eagerly received. If he lost a few hours of sleep over it, then he could just make up for it by sleeping during his study hall. Or grab an energy drink before Cheerios' practice. "I can't believe that you actually got an internship at Vogue dot com," he added, smiling at the camera. He hadn't even had time to wash the gel out of his hair, but at least he'd pulled on a pair of blue pajamas in time to dive for his laptop to answer the 'call.' He looked semi-presentable on screen, at least. Kurt looked gorgeous, strutting around in an ensemble that Blaine noted was decidedly less Victorian than his usual selections.

Maybe being in New York isn't a bad thing, he mused.

"I know, I'm still in shock," his boyfriend agreed, drawing him back to the present as he balanced his laptop on one arm and pulled out a bottle of some blue liquid or another. Or maybe it was just the bottle that was blue. There were so many oddities in Kurt and Rachel's loft at that point that Blaine had quietly given up learning all of them and accepted that they each served some purpose. Uncapping his bottle, Kurt took a sip and smiled as he sauntered around the mini-kitchen, absentmindedly pulling out a roll of paper towels and setting them aside. "And she invited me out to lunch on Wednesday," he added cheerfully, rummaging through a cabinet as he talked. "Sure, I have to bring her board coffee before meetings, but other than that it's a cake job so far. Just sort through the online catalogues and pull out ideas that I think would be fitting for the next edition and be ready to present them in her office tomorrow. Oh, and I have to read this ancient manuscript about the Ideals of Vogue and how creativity is frowned upon unless it's eye-catching." Kurt rolled his eyes, waving a hand lazily as he riffled through the contents of his refrigerator. "I don't really think leather brassieres are eye-catching, but what Daphne wants, Daphne gets."

Blaine choked a little at the thought. "Sounds . . . painful."

"Not to mention a fashion flop in the making," Kurt agreed. "You wouldn't believe what these people consider to be high-end fashion. I mean, I get that it's good to be a little out-there, but this was just insanity." He popped the cap back on the blue bottle and set it aside, shaking his head a little. "Isabelle says that she wants to hear my ideas on the project, but all I've come up with is this music video and I don't want to sound too pushy for an intern, you know?"

"What kind of music video?" Blaine asked, genuinely curious. Given their limited resources, Rachel and Kurt weren't exactly loaded with props or sound stages with which they could manipulate. Instead of looking put off by the question, Kurt grinned and set the laptop down on a counter, scurrying out of view before returning a moment later.

"All right, just a minute, I'm sending it to you," he said. Blaine pawed the space beside him for his phone without looking up, reluctantly breaking away from Kurt to look at his phone as the video appeared. He tapped the screen and sat back a little as he watched, smiling at their antics and even chuckling at when they both squealed when the doors opened.

"I take it your spying hasn't improved much?" Blaine commented, smiling even as Rachel and Kurt whirled around, doe-eyed and terrified, as a third voice joined them off-screen. A moment later, Kurt swiveled the tiny camera around and Isabelle Wright came into view, flanked by two police officers. The screen went black briefly and Blaine frowned before it came back on, this time in a higher quality setting. The officers were gone, leaving Kurt, Rachel, and Isabelle alone in the room. Blaine lifted an eyebrow slightly, knowing that Skype Kurt could see it, and watched as the three ran through a musical number, smiling to himself at the way they incorporated some of the finer outfits into their piece.

"And that's just the rough cut," Kurt said as the screen went black a second time, returning to his main page settings a moment later.

"No, it's genius," Blaine assured, setting his phone down after one dazed moment and smiling at Kurt, "and Rachel looked so gorgeous. The whole thing looked so like . . . professional and like a real fashion video. It looked amazing, K. So what's the next step?"

Kurt's smile could have split his face, stretching nearly ear to ear as he dug out the blue bottle again, leaving the rest of his items untouched as he fiddled with it. "Well, uh, ideally, the dream would be that Isabelle would see it and love it and then put it on Vogue dot com, but I mean she's already committed to so many other concepts that - "

Blaine didn't even hesitate. "Kurt, of course she's gonna choose yours, she's gonna pick yours." He rolled his eyes a little, trying to imagine what other, less ambitious interns had devised before checking himself. There was a reason that Vogue had a ruthless reputation, and just because Kurt had made it into their ranks didn't mean that he was invulnerable. If anything, he was more vulnerable than ever. A single wrong move then could spell disaster, and Blaine knew that Kurt would be devastated to lose his position so soon after finally getting it.

He barely noticed that Kurt was still talking, checking back in as he said something about "Isabelle Wright" and "guava juice." Making a mental note to ask Rachel the details about that one later (her name had cropped up in the mini-spiel as well), he pointed out quietly, "You're hanging out with fashion goddess Isabelle Wright and I'm running for student body president with a former stripper."

"Oh my gosh, I forgot about that, how's it going?" Kurt was smiling, laying belly-down on the bed and beaming, and Blaine smiled a little in spite of his failed attempts to whip Sam into shape earlier, feeling warmed just at the sight of Kurt so carefree and happy.

"It's going okay," he admitted, unable to keep a little gloom out of his voice. He brightened as he reached over for the bow ties that he had been looking over for the debate tomorrow, scooping up the two that he had been considering. "But, um, I did want to ask you what bow tie you thought I should wear to to tomorrow's debate," he said, rushing a little because he knew, he knew how silly it was to be asking Kurt's fashion advice yet again but this was important and Kurt had never turned him down before. "I have narrowed it down to five, but mainly I have these two -"

"Oh, whichever two you choose for sure. Whichever you choose, you're gonna look great in," Kurt assured.

Blaine opened his mouth to tell him that he couldn't wear both when Rachel chimed in happily, "Hi, Blaine, we miss you!"

"Oh, Rachel says hi," Kurt added, smiling.

Fumbling a little, Blaine managed to say, "Oh, hi, Rachel - " But Kurt was already moving on, Rachel's background noise adding intermittent clangs and scuffs to the mix as Kurt talked, leaning a little on his elbows, looking serious.

"Oh, by the way, one more question about the video: that scene where she plays the east village it girl - did you think it was too much?" he asked, his voice that low, uncertain murmur that meant he thought that he already knew the answer but wanted an outside opinion to agree with him, anyway. Affirmation was important, Blaine knew, so he shrugged a little and told him that, no, no, he didn't think - but Kurt was already breathing a sigh of relief and Blaine bit his lip to keep himself from rambling. He didn't know when he'd adopted the habit, except that they're time was already preciously limited and he didn't want to waste any of it if he could avoid it.

Setting the bow ties aside slowly, he silently berated himself for wasting even that much time on something so menial. He hadn't expected Kurt to call in the first place, which meant that he would have picked one out on his own, anyway.

Still, he couldn't help the way that it stung. Swallowing back a comment about it, he looked aside, willing himself to remain composed (because God knew that Kurt had told him on more than one occasion that he wore his heart on his sleeve and now was not the time), he smiled as he looked back at the screen, nodding along to Kurt's words more than what he was saying.

He didn't know what the VolÃ© was or what sweater Kurt was referring to. He didn't know where Gray's Papaya was.

With a sinking feeling, he realized that he didn't know anything about New York, other than it was big and grand and far, far away, and Kurt was in it and he loved it and he couldn't wait to become a full-blooded New Yorker.

"Rachel wants to take me to this place next week called Callbacks since Brody's out of town for the weekend," Kurt rambled on.

"Yeah," Blaine agreed, barely aware of what he was saying as his mind slowly turned over the possibility. "Sounds great."

We'll Skype and talk on the phone and as far as I'm concerned, you'll be visiting every weekend.

He'd never been to New York before. He had a car and a GPS and a vague idea of all the things that he would need. He didn't have any obligations in Lima that demanded his attention outside of a few hours of after school practice at Cheerios or time on the phone with his friends. Cheerios didn't practice on the weekends because of some legality that stated they had to break for a certain number of hours (Blaine had heard tell that Sue Sylvester was actively working on filing for that particular law to be revoked). He could drive up on Friday night and drive back on Monday. Missing a day wouldn't hurt his record, and the class presidency debates were tomorrow. Results would be out by Thursday afternoon.

He could be with Kurt by Saturday.

The thought made his heart clench. It sounded outrageous, absurd to his own mind, but he couldn't help himself. He could be with Kurt in a matter of hours.

It wouldn't be easy and there were certain repercussions to consider - exhaustion from traveling, to name one - but it was still possible.

"Blaaaine."

He blinked, stared at the laptop screen and smiled sheepishly. "Hey, sorry," he said. "Lost myself a little there."

"It's fine," Kurt assured. "I should sign off, anyway. I need to be up early to help Isabelle with a meeting. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

Blaine nodded, his lips forming the word, "Okay," before his mind had even fully registered the way the screen blackened a moment later.

Kurt had disconnected the call. Blaine closed his eyes and clicked out of the tab, setting his laptop aside.

He'd consider it.

Maybe he could ask Sam or something. Or even Rachel. She could help him with the surprise. And then they could all go out and explore New York and he could finally see what Kurt was referring to, the endless analogies he was making laid out before him.

Nodding once to himself, Blaine pushed off the ground and stood up, walking into the bathroom to work the gel out of his hair.

Two days, his mind supplied. Two days with Kurt.

The possibility warmed him inexplicably. To actually walk in the loft that Kurt so lovingly referred to on various occasions, to see the places that he liked to get coffee from and just hang around, to walk through the Conde Nast building and understand Kurt's affection for Vogue's headquarters.

He closed his eyes, forcing his thoughts back to the present. First you have to get through the class election, then you can worry about Kurt.

If I win the election, Blaine amended dryly, wrinkling his nose as he touched the edge of his hair. At least washing gel out took a while, and enough concentration that his thoughts were sufficiently pulled away from Kurt by the time he pulled up a blank document on his laptop and mapped out his speech for the debates tomorrow.

He blinked owlishly at the finished product the next morning, smiling a little to himself.

Then they'll probably start burning people, too.

A little dramatic, but maybe we need a little dramatic.


	12. Chapter 12

"Are you nervous?"

Blaine shrugged a little, reaching up to finish looping his bow tie into place. "We're ready," he assured Sam. The latter clapped him on the shoulder, leaning down slightly to look at himself in the mirror before eyeing Blaine doubtfully. "What?" he asked, peeved, because as soon as Sue Sylvester finished her introductory spiel they'd be on.

"Why are you still wearing a bow tie?"

The way Sam said it, as though there couldn't be a more ridiculous choice in the world, gave Blaine pause as he tugged the bow tie into place slowly. "I always wear bow ties," he said, half-truthfully. I always wear bow ties when Kurt's around. That seemed a little too melodramatic even for him, though, so he settled for, "What's wrong with it?"

"It makes you look uptight," Sam said. "You should lose it."

"Really?" Blaine looked at his own expression a little more fiercely, trying to distinguish the so-called uptightness from the rest of his demeanor. His hair was slicked back in its usual style and his outfit seemed presentable. With wary fingers, he pulled the unfinished tie off, blinking in surprise at the result. "You're right," he said, earning a slight grin from Sam and another pat on the shoulder.

"Told you," was all he said, stepping back and wandering off, rehearsing his opening speech aloud. Blaine tuned him out and stared at his reflection, a soft huff of amusement escaping him.

"Thank you," he said, knowing that Sam couldn't hear him and not caring. No one else, it seemed, had even noticed that he was there, the rest of the stage crew bustling around in a fit of agitation. They worked industriously, pulling on curtains and fixing lights and even adjusting the volume on the speaker system occasionally. Blaine winced at the harsh feedback that carried over the line, briefly drowning out Sue Sylvester's tirade while the rest of the student body sat, mute and disinterested.

Distantly, Blaine could still hear her harping on about how unimportant the elections were and how unnecessary her presence was at such a demeaning event, but he'd learned how to tune her out well over the past few weeks. It helped him at Cheerios' practices whenever she was berating them for their form or timing to let the rant run its course and then proceed to re-run the routine. By letting her get it out of her system uninterrupted, they stood a better chance as a whole of getting out of practice a few hours earlier. It wasn't that he disliked the practices, but he had enough on the side to keep him occupied that three additional hours on the football field wasn't his idea of a good time.

He was startled out of his thoughts when Sam all but yanked him out of his chair and propelled him toward the side of the curtain as he himself proceeded to the center of the stage, smiling winningly. Blaine blinked once to re-focus before folding his arms and watching as Sam took up his post, lifting a hand in a slight wave to the crowd. It was, Blaine thought, meager at best and pathetic at worst, but they were still students and they would still vote and ultimately, that was what mattered.

Doing his best to ignore the small, petty feeling in his gut that was disappointed by the low turnout, he kept his gaze firmly on the competition as Artie picked up his microphone and started speaking. For the first three minutes, he kept track of each of his arguments and surreptitiously dismantled them in his mind. It was a nice, refreshing exercise, a familiar debate experience that kept him focused and alert. After five minutes had passed, he stopped focusing on specific arguments and put his attention more towards the speech as a whole.

By the time eleven minutes had passed, his attention was flagging and he could tell that Sam, too, was losing interest. He remained valiantly standing upright for the next two minutes, but by the quarter-hour mark even he was leaning his cheek on one palm while his forearms rested against the podium.

At last, mercifully, Artie finished, beaming at his half-awake audience. Blaine noticed a beanie-clad redhead snoring loudly in the middle of the auditorium, not bothering to hide his boredom. After a moment, he bolted upright, looking around and clapping vigorously for five seconds before lowering his hands, leaning back in his seat comfortably. Sue Sylvester cleared her throat loudly and Blaine felt an apprehensive lump in his own as he watched Sam.

"Stripper McGee, what say you?"

"I . . . don't know what Artie really said, but I completely agree with all of it," Sam said.

Blaine wanted to shake him. When Sam turned slightly to look at him for affirmation, he held out his arms in exasperation, mouthing furiously, "What are you doing?" Sam opened his mouth to respond before turning back to the podium as Sue Sylvester leaned close to her microphone, looking directly at him.

"An undisclosed online blogger asks, is it true that you are a stripper and are you ashamed?"

"Yes, I'm a stripper," Sam said, directing his words at the audience this time and Blaine felt some of his agitation recede. At least his earnestness might win them some favor. "And no, I'm not ashamed," he added, stepping to the left of the platform. Blaine felt apprehension trickle down his spine at the unplanned gesture, desperately hoping that Sylvester would move on before he could do anything.

"In fact. . . ."

Oh God, no. Sam, don't.

Too late.

Blaine sighed as Sam ripped off his jacket and shirt, vaguely registering the appreciative noises from the audience as he dropped his head to his chest. Well, at least he hadn't beentoo invested in the election. He could always run for president of Sewing club or something.

The rest of the debate passed in a blur. By the time Sam had appeared back stage, Blaine couldn't find the will power to yell at him, only offering a dry, "Well, at least you got their attention," in response. Sam took the compliment and smiled as he shrugged back into his outfit, even submitting to Blaine smoothing out the collar and cuffs again.

"You ready?" he asked as Blaine wiped his sweaty hands on his pants for the third time in five minutes. He nodded slightly, taking a deep breath before striding out onto stage, Sam close at his heels. The overhead lighting was harsh and Blaine couldn't help but squint at it, his vision slowly adjusting to the spotlight in his face. Letting his gaze rove over their audience briefly, he relaxed a little as he gripped the sides of the podium loosely. There weren't any expectations there, and if he flopped, then at least he wouldn't damage his reputation. You couldn't lose what you didn't have, after all.

His speech was steady and smooth. He surprised himself with his own passion, even tapping a fist against the podium emphatically on his more noteworthy points. By the end of it, he felt confident that he had made a statement, regardless of whether or not the student body agreed. He felt Sam's agreement in a palpable wave and knew that if he could, then he would have reached over and given his shoulder another congratulatory squeeze. There was no time, however, as Coach Sylvester, without giving him any indication that he had performed beyond a rudimentary level, swiveled around to face Brittany.

There was something about the soft, almost doe-eyed way that she looked at the crowd that made something hard and tight in Blaine's chest loosen a little. He watched, surprised, as she peeled the microphone like its holder as Artie had done earlier and began to address them, seemingly ignoring Sue Sylvester entirely.

"I love you."

The words were so simple, so mellow that no one reacted. No one knew how, really. Blaine stood stiffly beside Sam, waiting for the blows to fall, the counter-arguments to arise.

"I love you all so much," she said, stepping around the podium slowly and nearly wrapping the cord around Artie's neck. He carefully batted it away as Brittany circled around him, looking out over her audience. "I love this school and I wish everyone could love it as much as I do."

Blaine tried to envision himself loving McKinley. There had been a time when the affirmative would have rolled off his tongue easily if he'd been asked about Dalton. There was a time when he had thought that there was no better place for him to be, no better friends that he could make or better academics to boost his chances of getting into the colleges of his dreams - wherever they may be. It wasn't hard to conjure the memories, but the feeling was gone, the passion since vanished. It wasn't that Dalton itself had changed terribly in his absence, but the people had undergone such drastic alterations that he had felt like he no longer knew half of them by the time they stood head-to-head at the empty Dalton parking lot.

And then, of course, they had had their sing-off. While Blaine knew that it was meant to be a friendly competition, a mutually amicable way of solving their problems, he could tell that there was something off about all of their faces. Their expressions were slightly more haggard than he remembered, their eyes almost flinty whenever he tried to catch their gazes and reassure himself that it was just a song, just a song. They were still friends, deep down, and Sebastian was nice enough to him, even if he treated Kurt reprehensibly. Blaine should have seen it coming but he didn't, naively going along with it all until suddenly he saw a flash of Big Quench and a dozen teary phone conversations had come crashing over him as he lunged.

Later, Santana told him that if he had let the slushy run its course, Kurt would have been fine. Kurt had been standing farther back, his torso straight and his head held jauntily high. If he had let the slushy hit its intended target, then it would have spattered across his chest, damaging his leather jacket and pants irreparably. There might have been some minor chemical burns from the process, and if any of it had gotten on Kurt's face then he would have felt the impact, but overall, if the slushy had been allowed to run its course, the damage would not have been severe.

Blaine had closed his good eye when she had told him and said nothing. Then, just before she could leave, he had said softly, "I had to do it," and listened to the door creak gently shut.

Those had been a miserable three weeks. The eye patch was only one of many irritants, preventing him from reading or watching TV unimpeded. The fear of surgery and potential that he could lose his sight in his right eye had kept him on edge for the better part of six days until the pain relievers that they had him on would helpfully knock him out. Their only formal job was to minimize his pain, but in the process, they had a lightening effect on him, freeing his mind of stress and worry and letting him drift off. He slept more than he was awake most times, but the times when he was awake and coherent were the worst, fisting the bed sheets and waiting impatiently for the clock to tell him that he could take his next dosage.

No, he had once loved Dalton, but after three weeks of stress, fear, and pain, he couldn't say that he still felt the same. He didn't belong to Dalton anymore, besides.

Blinking back to the present as Sam gave him a gentle, subtle nudge on the elbow, Blaine surveyed their audience and found most of them gaping speechlessly at Brittany. After two lines of promises to cancel summer and weekends, Blaine knew why, unable to help himself from looking over and staring at his opponent disbelievingly. That was her platform? He had been expecting ideas that would undermine his own speech and make Artie's comments from before seem even more appealing. The way that she talked showed that she had prepared, but it was clear that any preparation had ultimately been overruled by what she saw as a superior goal.

At least she didn't promise to goal topless on Tuesdays, Blaine thought dazedly as she finished her speech.

"I think we won," Sam whispered in his ear while Artie smiled with painful cheerfulness at his audience.

Instinctively, Blaine knew it was true. Still, the joy that he had been anticipating, the sense of fulfillment didn't come.

"I think so, too," was all he said, murmuring the words as he picked up his speech cards and everything else on the podium and swept away, ignoring Coach Sylvester's closing spiel. He was already stripping out of his debate outfit backstage by the time Sam appeared, heedless of the way that he was casually bearing his torso to about a dozen surprised techies. He didn't care, instead tossing on his black Cheerios' shirt and shucking off his pants with the same clean movements. Sam watched him, unspeaking, as he shimmied into them, his dress shoes discarded to one side. Hair ruffled and visage slightly askew, he straightened his shoulder, walked over to the corner where he had left his after-school bag, and shouldered it. "I've gotta go," he said, almost apologetically. Sam pouted at him, looking disappointed, before looking back towards the stage and grinning a little.

He nodded once, a slight crease between his eyebrows as he turned back to Blaine, looking him over once in a scrutinizing way. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Blaine offered a weak smile. "I have to get to practice," he said simply, walking quietly off stage and letting the door bang shut behind him. Let their meager audience wonder what the noise meant. It wasn't like any of them really cared, anyway.

He walked down the near-empty hallways, grateful for the break between their last class of the day and the debates. Students had been permitted to skip class with prior written permission if they wished to attend the debate. Less than fifty of McKinley's twelve hundred students had appeared.

Biting back a disappointed scowl, Blaine stalked off to the locker room, letting that door bang behind him, too.

Of course, that meant that he didn't see the jock until he shouldered past him roughly, clipping him hard against the metal wall. Blaine grunted, his fists already tensing reflexively as the larger boy sneered and turned away from him, yanking the door open. "Girls' room's on the other side," he barked, letting the door clang shut behind him.

Blaine stiffened at the word choice. It had been years, true, but he remembered his conversations with Kurt post-Karofsky attacks clearly. I'm not a girl, Kurt had insisted thinly, ignoring Blaine's somewhat desperate attempts to curb his rising hysteria, I'm not!

Pushing himself off the wall, Blaine found an empty locker and tossed his bag into it. So what if some random jock felt his presence was unwanted? That didn't mean that he had to flee with his tail tucked between his legs. He belonged at McKinley just as much as the jock did. He belonged at McKinley more than the jock did, if the student election results had anything to say about it.

Blaine closed his eyes as he leaned against the locker for a moment, breathing deeply. Then, steeling himself for the inevitable tirades and rants about their poor performance, he straightened and walked over to the doors to the field, yanking one open and striding out onto it. There was already a small conglomeration of girls going through their stretches. Normally he preferred to stretch in the relative privacy of the lockers, knowing that he wasn't half as flexible as most of the girls and preferring to ignore their sneering comments about it. Today, he simply dropped to the ground and crossed his legs, waiting for Coach Sylvester to reappear.

Ten minutes later, she didn't disappoint, regarding him as dispassionately as the rest and striding brusquely across the field. "All right, ladies," she bellowed. "We have less than one week until our first competition, and I expect that you pathetic excuses for sandbags will have managed a flawless routine by then. Until then, we are going to practice all of them. Now everybody set up!"

"You shouldn't push yourself so hard," a familiar voice said softly.

Blaine groaned, saying nothing as he felt her weight settle on the bench behind him, her fingers already kneading his shoulders absently.

"I'm pretty sure this isn't a great way to celebrate your victory, either."

"We haven't won yet," Blaine reminded, his voice slightly hoarse before he cleared his throat. Practice had been even worse than he'd been expecting, the hours long and the breaks few and far between. It had been a pittance to slink off the field afterward and take a quick, lukewarm shower below before toweling off and shoving on the first outfit that he grabbed in his bag. Blaine didn't bother crane his neck around to see his companion; he didn't need to.

"Come on. If you and Sam didn't win that, then I'm not a lunch lady's daughter," Marley prodded him. Her fingers took on a slightly more deliberate quality as they passed over his shoulder blades, and she made a slightly amused noise as she let them drift over his neck. "You are so tense," she murmured. "How do you even perform like this?"

"Lots of practice," Blaine said dryly, relaxing minutely as she hummed and rubbed at them soothingly. "Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked, the genuine curiosity in his voice pausing her hands. They started moving again slowly a moment later and he felt rather than saw her shrug.

"You're our leader," she said simply. "Even if you've got a stubborn streak, someone has to keep you from completely burning out. We haven't even reached sectionals yet."

"I'm not. . . ." Blaine trailed off as she dug her fingers into his back lightly, a soft groan escaping him before she worked the knot loose and he sighed. "You don't need me to win competitions," he pointed out.

She tapped his shoulder and, without needing to be told, he turned slowly on the bench so he was facing her instead, her eyes soft and earnest as she looked back at him. "In case you haven't noticed, we kind of need everyone we've got," she said quietly. Then, smiling as she tweaked his nose playfully: "That includes you."

Blaine wrinkled his nose. She went on before he could say anything, adding, "We need you. Simple as that."

Meeting her gaze, half-expecting to find a halfhearted lie that would cancel out the seriousness of the statement, Blaine held his tongue and said nothing when he realized how serious she was. "I'm not going to self-destruct," he said quietly.

"Good," Marley said seriously, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder once lightly before swinging her leg around and standing up. "Sugar's planning a party on Friday night at the Breadstix. Don't tell her that I told you about it."

"Will do," Blaine promised. Then, even more softly than before: "Thank you."

Marley smiled at him, turning around and walking off. "You're welcome," was all she said, the door closing quietly behind her.


	13. Chapter 13

Blaine's phone vibrated at quarter to one in the morning. Rolling over onto his side and squinting in the dark, he dug it out from underneath his pillow - how it had gotten there, he didn't know - and quickly slid the bar across the screen to unlock it, holding it up to his ear as he hit 'accept.' "H'lo?"

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry, I woke you up, didn't I?"

Shifting slowly to a semi-upright position and snapping the bedside lamp on - Blaine winced at the momentarily blinding light that ensued - he shook his head, knowing that Kurt couldn't see it. "No, no, no, baby, what's wrong?" he asked, the endearment slipping out beyond his control. He bit his lip, wondering if it was too much - pet names were always touch-and-go with them - but Kurt was already babbling excitedly about his evening out in town with Isabelle Wright and Blaine relaxed.

"So then, we had Daphne and Chad over in the conference room and Isabelle was telling us all about the latest Broadway shows that she had seen when - oh, hey, I'm so sorry that I didn't pick up earlier."

Blaine ran a hand over his shaggy curls, shrugging to no one. "It's fine," he murmured. Sam's pep talk afterward about not letting Kurt's absence bring him down had been encouraging and distracting enough that he had let himself slip back into that state of half-awareness that came with long-seated exhaustion. Part of him had wanted to slip away and find an empty room and lie down on the nearest horizontal surface and sleep, free of distractions. Another part knew that he could have slept on the floor of Breadstix itself if he wished, he was senior class president after all, but he knew that it would draw unwanted attention. So he had smiled and made small talk with as many strangers as possible while secretly hoping that someone would come in and announce that celebratory parties were only permitted to last two hours. Sugar's party went on for nearly four hours, drawing in a formidable crowd that largely came for the refreshments.

"Oh, good, good," Kurt said, evidently relieved. "Listen, Isabelle wants me to take over her conference calls for a couple weeks to see if I can handle the workload, do you mind postponing our phone date for a few days? Just so I can settle in?"

"Of course," Blaine murmured, too sleepy to argue. "Can I - " He cut himself off because Kurt had just admitted that their phone calls would be limited for a time and he was considering ending one simply so he could sleep more. He could sleep during history tomorrow, if need be. Today, he supposed, in that logical corner of his mind that was quietly storing all the information away while the rest of his mind tried valiantly to drift away again. "Is there anything else I can do?" he asked.

"No, no, you've done far too much already," Kurt said, his voice light and amused as his weight shifted and he settled on a surface. His bed, Blaine deduced.

Sparing a glance at his clock on the adjacent table to himself, Blaine lifted an eyebrow and asked quietly, "Rachel out?"

"She's spending the night at Brody's with his parents," Kurt confirmed. "They have this gorgeous place down in Queens. I'm incredibly jealous already, but I have to say, our loft is finally starting to come together. Thanks for the care package, by the way. Rachel's in love with the scarf."

"I'm glad she liked it," Blaine said, a genuine smile curling his lips as he shut off the lamp beside himself, settling in more comfortably. He risked falling asleep without it on, but he risked that, either way, and he'd rather be comfortable than wake up to a blaring light in his face. "What did you think of the - "

"The shirt?"

"Mm-hm."

"Perfect."

Blaine relaxed a little at the word, barely catching Kurt's next sentence as he continued. He'd sent the care package a week after they'd christened their new loft theirs, including some house-warming necessities and a few other personal items. Putting a divider in the box itself with clear labels as to what went to who had helped to avoid confusion. The shirt in question had been one of Blaine's, something that hung loosely on him but fit snugly on Kurt. It was nothing special, just a gray t-shirt that he could pair with a number of his outfits, but it was reassuring to know that Kurt had something of his while he had something of Kurt's. Margaret Thatcher Dog's esteemed place on top of his dresser hadn't been revoked, and on worse nights he would let her snug in bed with him. Knowing that Kurt liked the shirt - even if he didn't fully understand the reasons behind it which, given his schedule, wouldn't be entirely impossible - was a relief.

". . . are you still there?"

"Yes," Blaine blurted. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

"I just wanted to know if you were still coming up in two weeks."

Something in Blaine's gut twisted at the thought. Two weeks wasn't that long, all things considered. Just ten school days and a couple dry weekends and he would see Kurt again. Still, he couldn't help but feel despair over the thought of just how long that was, without any sort of contact with Kurt.

You'll still talk to each other, a tiny voice reminded him sternly. Just not as often.

We're not talking often, he countered.

The other voice was silent.

"Blaine?"

"Yes," he repeated. "I'll be there."

"Great!" The sincerity in Kurt's voice made Blaine deflate a little, regretting the moment of selfishness. He would just have to grit his teeth and bear it. Maybe Mr. Schue would come up with a fall musical soon that they could use to occupy their time. It seemed absurd that he wanted even more to add onto his already full plate, but nothing seemed to be blotting out the thought of Kurt and New York enough. He loved Kurt, and he knew that someday he would love New York, too, but right then, all he wanted was to find a way to survive his day-to-day life without the crippling knowledge that Kurt was gone and wouldn't be back, permanently, for at least nine months. The thought stung, even though the prospect of weekend and holiday visits tried to boost his mood.

"Oooh, I should go, it's getting late," Kurt said suddenly, startling Blaine. He hadn't realized how much time had elapsed, blinking owlishly at his bedside alarm clock. It was almost two in the morning.

"Don't go," he said softly.

"It's a school night, B," Kurt countered gently. "Besides, I have to be up early for a meeting at eleven. I'll talk to you soon?"

"Of course," Blaine agreed, almost clutching his phone. "I - I love you. Goodnight, Kurt."

"I love you, too, Blaine. Goodnight."

And then he was gone. Blaine slid his phone so it rested on the nightstand instead, staring at it for a long time afterward, more awake than before.

You can't be this dependent on Kurt, he chided himself. He needs time to adjust, and so do you.

I need him, he argued petulantly, one hand curling around a corner of the pillow slowly. I need him.

Soon.

But it was a lame excuse even to himself, and he rolled over and buried his face in his pillows, willing sleep to come.

It didn't.

"So, how's the new hobbit in charge doing?" Brittany asked, sliding onto the lunch bench beside him.

Blaine wrinkled his nose and picked over his food absently. "Don't let Jacob Ben Israel hear you say that," he warned softly.

"Santana says that hobbits live in shires, but I've always wondered where they go during the winter." She looked at him critically, waiting for an answer.

"Underground?" Blaine hedged. It was too early in the morning for this. "I don't know, Britt."

"Either way, I hope that you don't freeze during the winter, because someone has to plan prom next year and since I'm no longer student body president, that's your job."

Blaine blinked, attempting to sort out the logistics of that statement and eventually settling for shaking his head slightly. "Thank you?" he hedged.

"It would help if you weren't so sad all the time," she added, scooting close enough that their hips and shoulders brushed. She was warm and soft and comforting, a familiar presence in a sea of unfamiliarity. He relaxed, letting his fork drop to his tray, knowing that it was useless to keep up the charade around Brittany. She would see through it in an instant and ask him why he was pretending to eat, which would lead to even more convoluted questions that he wasn't certain that he had an answer to. "I've heard that when people get really sad, they lose themselves," she added, looking straight at him, "and people that lose themselves can't lead."

"Who said I'm leading anything?" Blaine asked, knowing that the statement was inherently false. He had recruited Artie to try and bring Brittany out of her funk (as well as suggested to Sam that maybe Tina, Joe, and he could put together a number; he hadn't anticipated that said-number would be "3"), spoken with Unique about fashion choices and what was allowed during rehearsals, welcomed Marley into the New Directions to the best of his ability, and even run for class president with Sam as his VP. Maybe the role of 'the new Rachel' had been cast with the idea that someone would fill it temporarily as a soloist that took over the mechanisms of Glee club and little else, but he'd seen it as an opportunity to bond with the New Directions in a way that he hadn't been able to before.

Except despite all his efforts, he still felt alone. It ached, that awareness that Kurt was gone. He'd never particularly minded his parents' frequent absences, but Cooper's departure after their newly rekindled friendship had been a blow. Knowing that the Warblers had once stood behind Sebastian and even agreed to slushy his boyfriend (regardless of how severe said-slushying was meant to be) had drawn an invisible line between them, a statement that couldn't be revoked. Once a Warbler, always a Warbler.

"You're our leader," Brittany countered, as smoothly and easily as if it was an indisputable fact. Blaine opened his mouth to argue, shut it, and listened to her instead. "We need you, Blaine Warbler, because now that you're class president, it should matter. I messed up and I should have done better, but now it's your turn and it has to matter."

"I'm sorry, it's just that - I did all this for him, I did all of this for him. And now he's not here." Blaine sank into the seat across from Sam, unbuttoning his shirt. It didn't make him feel any better, but it was good to keep his hands busy for a moment and Sam's gaze was too earnest and disappointed to meet head on. Blaine kept his own away from it for as long as possible before meeting it, knowing that there was despair in his eyes. His phone felt like a stone in his pocket, a cold reminder that Kurt wasn't there Kurt didn't care Kurt didn't even want to care anymore. "And so it just ... really feels like none of it matters." He sighed, the sound tapering off weakly. He hated that, too, hated that he was "killing Sam's party buzz." Sam deserved to be happy, and Blaine might as well have dragged him into the race as much as Brittany had. It wasn't fair that he was ruining that moment for Sam, but he couldn't help it. Sam had intercepted him, and if he hadn't, then he was certain that he would have already found a quiet place to silently mourn the truth.

It was late and he was exhausted and the thought that Kurt hadn't responded to his call made him feel like everything insurmountable and awful had been rolled into a single moment and multiplied tenfold. He was alone. Short and simple. The New Directions flitted in and out of his life, but they weren't there for him like the Warblers had been, a constant presence around Dalton Academy. They weren't there for him like his parents could be if they didn't work as much. They weren't there for him like Cooper had been briefly, painstakingly briefly, before moving on.

And now even Kurt was gone and ignoring him and it felt like his entire world had collapsed to a single, painful pinpoint. He was alone. No matter what Sam said, he had a family to return to every night that loved and needed him. Artie, Tina, Brittany, even Marley all had homes to go back to where they could talk it out if they needed to.

Blaine let his gaze meet Sam's and all the unspoken thoughts seemed to come forth between them. Sam's gaze softened, his concern switching visibly from retaining his 'party buzz' to helping Blaine.

"Of course it matters. You're McKinley's first gay guy president," Sam insisted.

There was a certainty to his voice that was bolstering, but Blaine almost lost his own resolution not to become emotional in public as he lifted his gaze to the ceiling and said bitterly, "Nobody cares about that."

For one moment, Blaine thought that Sam might leave it at that. But then, he spoke, and as he did Blaine found himself relaxing infinitesimally, the soft, soothing nature of his voice seeming to draw him back to stability. Solidarity. "Look, before you, Kurt was the first gay kid I met, and though we were always great, I just don't really get his Bravo jokes or the fashion thing or Broadway," Sam admitted. "You and me, it's different, you know. I've never had a - a gay bro before." He stumbled over the word choice but there was a smile in his voice and Blaine found himself echoing it unconsciously, even laughing at his next statement. "We'll be like Wolverine and Cyclops. You know, show people how we're cool with each other, and if you ask me, that's what matters."

"It will," Blaine said aloud, meeting Brittany's gaze seriously for the first time. "It will matter."

Brittany smiled. "Good," was all she said, picking up her finished tray and walking off. Blaine blinked, startled, and hurried to cram as much of his own food in his mouth as possible before the bell rang. He was startled at how ravenous he felt, devouring the scraps until he was staring morosely at the empty plate wondering if seconds were available.

Still, the food settled and gave him a pleasant satisfaction that he hadn't felt in days, a gratification at actually enjoying his food even if he had almost inhaled it.

Make it matter, he told himself, getting up and scrambling to beat the rush as he dumped his tray and hurried into the halls before the remainder of the student body could catch up.

Do something that matters, he amended silently.

He didn't even think about Kurt again until Glee club rehearsal that afternoon, the rest of the day refreshingly quiet and filled with monotonous school work and a plethora of class presidential ideas.

What can I change at McKinley high? he wondered, settling into a seat at the top row of the choir room and doing his best not to stare at the empty seat beside him.

To that, he had no ready answer.


	14. Chapter 14

"Eat," Sam ordered, pushing a full lunch tray across the table into Blaine's corner.

"I'm not hungry," he muttered, scrolling through the messages on his phone and largely ignoring the chatter from the rest of the Glee club. He had flinched a little at the intrusion of the red plastic tray into his space, but that had quickly subsided in the face of the greater disappointment that was 0 new messages. Kurt hadn't forgotten the fact that they had agreed to call each other on their lunch breaks; he had simply apologized beforehand for his busy schedule and left an ambivalent window of opportunity ahead of them. Blaine had promised himself not to call him in case he interrupted an important business call, but it was hard. The past four days had been slower than the previous three weeks, despite knowing that he only had to make it one more week before he could visit Kurt in New York.

It was taking all his self control not to simply book a flight for that weekend, but he would survive. He always did.

"Yes, you are," Sam insisted, interrupting his train of thought as he tugged the iPhone out of his grasp and casually pocketed it. Blaine made an affronted noise as he finally looked up, his fingers still curled around thin air. "C'mon. You've been skipping lunch all week. Brittany says you aren't snacking at practice, either, and it's not healthy to go a full day between meals."

Blaine kept silent, almost sullen as he stared down at the tray. The pasta and bread combo would normally have bolstered his mood a little - the one meal that McKinley didn't simply pull out of a prepackaged plastic bag and serve lukewarm - but nothing short of 1 missed call could salvage his good mood. He had promised Kurt that he would be okay if Kurt went to New York, and he might it. He would be damned if he gave in to temptation and simply begged Kurt to come back.

One more year in Lima wouldn't kill him, a small voice reminded. A year at community college, working part-time at the Lima Bean and attending their competitions on the side, helping him with the prep work before and laughing about song selections and mourning the fact that solos fell resoundingly into Rachel's corner -

Blaine flinched at his own line of thought. Rachel isn't here anymore. Neither is Puck or Mike or Mercedes or Quinn or any of them.

Their small band of misfits seemed smaller and more ill-suited than ever, Blaine reflected, looking over their table surreptitiously. Marley and Unique were engaged in a heated debate about dating prospects, largely revolving around one Jacob Puckerman. Sugar was chatting animatedly to Joe and Tina about her plans for the weekend, waving her fork demonstratively while Tina offered commentary and Joe nodded along, looking baffled and amused. Brittany had been leaning against Sam's arm listening to Artie and Sam debating about their upcoming musical when Sam had pushed the tray in front of him. Blaine met his gaze and sighed, reluctantly picking up the bread stick and taking a small bite from the end.

Sam watched him closely for several long, painstakingly slow moments as he set the rest of the bread stick aside, itching to check his phone again. "Give me back my phone," he snapped at last.

"Not until you eat," Sam countered cheerfully, picking up a carrot and popping it into his mouth.

"It's not your decision to make," Blaine pointed out.

Sam rolled his eyes, taking a bite from another baby carrot. "Yeah? I'm your VP. I think I have a say in whether or not my pres is allowed to fall off the wagon completely." Blaine blinked, uncomprehending.

"Actually, I'm the Vice Rachel in this club," Brittany prompted. "Although I've never fallen off a wagon because Lord Tubbington doesn't have a license to drive one."

"Britt, VP stands for vice president," Sam corrected. He didn't look away from Blaine or make a move to retrieve his phone from his hoodie pocket. "We're worried about you," he said bluntly, lowering his voice a little so that the rest of the table wouldn't hear. Blaine looked away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of listening in. "We know that it's been hard for you with Kurt leaving and everything, but you can't just ... fall apart like this."

Blaine said nothing, at last picking up a forkful of pasta and shoveling it into his mouth. He cleared the plate in record time, shoving it off to one side and extending a hand pointedly for his phone. Sam dropped it into his hand, looking uncomfortable at the arrangement but unable to think of a more suitable protest. Blaine resumed scrolling wordlessly, leaping out of his seat as soon as the bell rang and darting off before any of the others could interrogate him about his quiet. They would get over it, he knew; he'd spent half of his first year at McKinley floating under the radar, tethered back to the Glee club only by Kurt's presence. Another week wouldn't kill them.

Or him, he vowed, making a mental note to at least feign eating in front of Sam and the others if he couldn't bring himself to actually do it. It felt wrong, knowing that Kurt was out there still answering phone calls, maybe for another hour or two before he got his lunch break. The guilty coil in Blaine's gut didn't dissipate as he sat through English and history, at last trudging into the choir room for Glee rehearsal.

Everything seemed to be going according to plan - Mr. Schue had commandeered the Glee club's attention sufficiently away from himself - until his phone vibrated just before Cheerios' practice.

He bit his lip as he stood, one arm in still tucked in his navy white-striped shirt before picking up the phone before its vibration could attract any more unwanted attention. "Hey, Kurt," he said softly, quickly stripping out of his shirt and digging around for his Cheerios' uniform.

"Hey, B. I'm so sorry, I was answering conference calls all week and I didn't have time to call you until now."

"It's fine," Blaine assured, too relieved to care as he shrugged on his red-and-white striped shirt carefully. "So, how's - "

"New York's amazing. I can't wait to show you around. And Isabelle says that this is just for the first few weeks, and then I'll have a more definitive schedule," Kurt assured.

"Yeah? That's great," Blaine said, shimmying out of his red pants carefully, keeping a firm grip on the phone. "Do you like answering calls?"

"It's ... entertaining. You wouldn't believe the kind of people that need to speak to Isabelle, like, right now," Kurt said. Blaine could almost hear him rolling his eyes. He picked up his Cheerio pants and tucked his phone between his shoulder and ear. "I'm the acting goalie. I rebound all the lesser important phone calls to different departments, and the actually important ones to Isabelle's desk. I'd say three out of a hundred go to her, so mostly, it's goalie duty for me."

Blaine glanced over as he heard the locker room door slam shut, the hooting of a few hockey players filling the space. He sighed a little as he finished stuffing the rest of his clothes into his duffle bag, safely stowed away in his locker.

"What was that?"

"Just some hockey players," Blaine said. "It's fine."

"Oh, crap, I completely forgot you had Cheerios' practice. Look, I'll ... call you back tomorrow, okay?"

"Kurt, it's fine, it's - "

"Bye, Blaine."

Blaine sighed. "Bye. I love y - " That was as far as he got, the tell-tale click on the other end letting him know that he'd been freed. Biting his lip, he tucked his phone away, just in time to shut his locker forcibly with his shoulder.

"Isn't homoerotic explosion gay enough without you dressing up like a pansy every day?" one of the jocks sneered. Blaine ignored the jibe, shutting his locker a little more vindictively than necessary as he quickly ducked around another shove. In the presence of the other Cheerios, he was virtually untouchable, only susceptible to Sue's wrath. Alone, he might as well have painted a red-and-white striped target on his back. Better to sneak away and live to tell the tale than encourage them.

"Anderson!" Sue barked. "You're working with Kitty, go!"

"What?" Blaine said, unable to help himself. He'd always been kept at the back of the pack, but Kitty was undeniably front-and-center. She eyed him with equal mistrust from Sue's side, her gaze cool and unpleasant. "I can't - "

"C'mon, Gleebait," Kitty said, grabbing his wrist and dragging him to the front leading position. "Don't drop me," she added, almost sweetly.

Blaine had never realized how much effort that the male lead put into his work until he stood in that position. Kitty didn't help matters, deliberately pushing off with more force than necessary for lifts and coming down hard. She must have trusted him, he thought dryly, because if she hadn't the impact would have been worsened by her efforts if he had failed to catch her. Which he didn't. After three weeks under Coach Sylvester's tutelage, he wasn't about to ignite her fury by dropping one of her star performers. There was a certain trust between them that surprised Blaine, even as it made his arms ache with each repetition of: Again. 

He caught Brittany's eye once during a livelier number, the surprise and uncertainty there startling him a little. She looked ... sad, almost? He couldn't tell, too focused on blending into the background as often as possible while stepping up to attention whenever the routine demanded it. By the time Coach Sylvester blew the whistle for the final time, he almost collapsed on his back in relief. Knowing that weakness wouldn't be tolerated under the Cheerio coach's eye, he shook out his arms a little instead, watching Kitty purse her lips at him.

"You were slow," was all she said, sauntering off the field.

Blaine bit his own lip to keep a snappish retort from bubbling to the surface, instead letting Brittany tow him back towards the locker room, their arms linked. "I wish I was still head Cheerio," she said, looking after Kitty with undisguised dislike.

"Do you? I don't think I could lift you," Blaine pointed out.

"Coach Sue wouldn't make you," Brittany dismissed. "You're a hobbit."

Blaine huffed, following Brittany back to the locker rooms. "Maybe," he agreed, disentangling his arm from hers. "Still need a ride?"

"Sam's picking me up," Brittany said, almost apologetically.

Blaine nodded. "That's fine," he assured. "See you at Glee?"

"See you then," Brittany said, flouncing off.

Blaine couldn't focus on Friday.

He checked his phone repeatedly throughout his classes, nearly earning himself a detention after a close call in history. He darted quick glances at his watch between phone checks, drumming his foot silently as he waited for the hours to tick by. At lunch, he managed to clear his tray so quickly even Unique deigned to respond with a, "Crazy ratchet," as he darted off to pour over his unresponded messages, timed conveniently with Kurt's schedule not to wake him up or interrupt him at inopportune moments. By the time the final bell rang after Glee rehearsal, he almost plowed Mr. Schue over in his haste to get outside, rattling off a quick but wholehearted apology as he snatched the rough draft for their upcoming fall musical from his hands. ("Hey, Blaine, you mind looking this over - " "YeahsurethingnoproblemI'msosorrrygottago!")

Cheerios' practice was torture, each agonizing re-run making Blaine's tension wind up a little further. He bumped into one of the performers mid-way through their sixth repetition of the same routine (it was the twelfth one in their repertoire). Coach Sylvester's abuse fell on deaf ears as he dropped to the ground almost before she'd finished blowing the whistle and did fifty push-ups, bouncing back up with only a light sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. She had narrowed her eyes at that, making them start from the beginning and do the routine an additional four times before deeming it 'slightly less awful than the crippled debacle I watched at the beginning of this season.'

Blaine hiked the shower nozzle up to scalding and sheared off the layers of chilled sweat in record time, nearly forgetting to snatch his towel off the hook before stepping out of the stall and shucking on a new pair of clothes. He towel-dried his hair on the way out, stuffing it into his bag as he hurried to the parking lot. In his haste, he managed to almost-fall twice, skidding spectacularly on a sheet of thin ice that had formed seemingly overnight from a sleety rain.

The drive home was uneventful, his arrival even more so. Tossing his duffle bag aside, he darted upstairs and quickly grabbed the larger duffle he'd prepared with items that he would need for his three-day visit. (Thank God for three day weekends, he thought, hitching the bag over his shoulder.)

The airport terminal was crowded but not unbearably so. Unexpectedly high winds had grounded several flights, keeping Blaine on the edge of his seat as he watched the boards and slowly worked his way through security.

The brief snafu that ensued loading was quickly resolved when Blaine was given a simple ultimatum: he could accept a later flight and a cash compensation for the difference, or he could sit five rows ahead in between a man of extraordinary girth and a chain smoker. Wordlessly, he squeezed in between the two passengers, breathing shallowly and keeping his knees tucked as close to his seat as possible. He was one of the first off the flight once they hit the tarmac, darting past a dozen other miffed passengers and breathing deeply in relief as his feet touched solid ground.

If the Columbus terminal had been comfortably crowded, LaGuardia was hectic. Arriving and departing passengers darted to and fro, casually shouldering each other aside in favor of squeezing onto a seat on the nearest trolley. Slightly overwhelmed by the entire affair, Blaine hurriedly made his way outside and took a seat on a frigid bench, dialing Kurt's number unthinkingly before holding it up to his ear. He waited nearly a full minute before recalling that Kurt was probably still at work and therefore answering conference calls and promptly hit the Rachel in his contact lists.

"Rachel Berry speaking, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Rachel. Hi," Blaine said a little breathlessly. "Listen, I'm ... outside LaGuardia now and as much as I hate to admit it, I have no idea how to get to your loft from here."

"Oh, it's easy. Brody and I are on our way."

"Oh, no, you guys don't have to - "

"It's fine, we don't mind. See you soon!" With that, Rachel hung up, Blaine sighing a little even as a small smile crossed his face. He hated to inconvenience them, but he had no idea how to get to Kurt's loft, and he'd rather inconvenience them while he still knew where he was than wait until he was hopelessly lost.

In the end, it took the better part of two hours before the three of them made it back, Brody chatting amiably with Rachel the entire way, Blaine occasionally contributing as he followed along. Halfway there Brody offered again to carry his bag for a bit, to which Blaine again declined. The walk was nothing compared to Cheerios' practice, and he'd already dragged them out of their way as it was. The walk helped clear his head and settle some of his restless anticipation.

The loft was empty by the time they arrived, with only a few spare lights left on as Rachel slid the door open. "Welcome to our abode," Rachel said, beaming, as she lead Blaine inside, Brody lifting a hand in farewell after accepting a hug from Rachel. "Isn't it amazing?" she went on with barely contained excitement, pulling Blaine further into the loft by his sleeve. He dropped his bag absentmindedly by the back of a couch they'd sequestered, smiling softly.

"It looks great, Rach."

She startled him with another hug - the first had almost knocked him off his feet at the airport - squeezing him hard enough that he almost had to tap her back to let him up a little. "It's so good to see you," she said fervently, letting him go and looking up at him. He'd forgotten how small she was - sometimes he worked her up to be much larger than she was in his head, and the sight of her in person was comparatively stark - but she was still Rachel. She still talked ninety words a minute and could keep up with even the most ardent Broadway study. A slight lump formed in his throat as he smiled at her.

"I missed you," he said softly, surprised at the sincerity in his voice.

"Well, we missed you, too," she said promptly, leaning up to flick him on the nose.

He opened his mouth to retort, a playful smile already curling the corners of his lips when the sound of approaching footsteps startled him into silence. There was a pause, then the sound of shifting weight before abruptly the loft door slid open, revealing one slightly rumpled looking Kurt Hummel, turning slightly to rummage through his satchel. Blaine couldn't move, couldn't breathe as he watched him, heart pounding with anticipation.

Kurt spoke, Blaine's eyelids sliding shut briefly in relief at the familiar sound of his voice. "Don't get me wrong, I adore Isabelle and I love my new job, but - "

"Guess who's here!" Rachel trilled, already bouncing forward to meet Kurt halfway while Blaine stood, frozen, in the center of the loft.

Kurt turned and promptly dropped his satchel.

"Blaine!"


	15. Chapter 15

Blaine didn't sleep well that night.

He couldn't get over how loud New York was. Even on the outskirts of Bushwick, it was clear that the dense population had yet to cease its perpetual cycle of day-shift-night-shift-rinse-and-repeat. Traffic whirred several stories below as the thin walling left little to the imagination. Even Kurt's soft, almost imperceptible snoring couldn't overcome the sound, the occasional blaring of a car horn jostling him from the edges of half-sleep. He waited tensely on his back, spooked and disoriented, until at last sleepy tendrils reached over to wrap around him, attempting to pull him down.

They'd already stayed up late talking about nothing and everything together. Rachel had dropped off fairly early in the evening, helpfully popping in a pair of earplugs and retiring to her bed. Kurt and Blaine, on the other hand, sat cross-legged on his for hours, whispering and smiling and bumping knees while they shifted sore muscles. When it became clear that neither of them could keep up the ruse of alertness much longer, they climbed off the bed long enough to wrestle the sheets into submission before sliding underneath them.

There had been one strange moment when they had stared at one another, uncertain how to proceed until Blaine had tentatively draped an arm around Kurt's waist and Kurt, relaxing, had reciprocated, his own arm resting slightly higher on Blaine's back. Blaine drew circles against Kurt's hip while Kurt stroked soft lines against his back, calm and comfortable. When at last sleepy murmurs and half-lidded eyes trailed off into sleep, Blaine found himself uncomfortably awake in the quiet, keenly aware of Kurt's relaxed, unconcerned presence beside him.

At first, he tried to ignore the outside world, forcing himself to focus on the small sphere of his own reality. He let Kurt's heartbeat soothe him where the rush of steady, unrelenting traffic couldn't. He clung, almost desperately, to Kurt's hip whenever he shifted, willing his anchor to stay close and comforting. Even Rachel's presence a short distance away seemed irrelevant compared to Kurt's beside him, nonexistent to his conscious mind at first.

Yet as the evening wore on and night drifted into early morning, Blaine found himself hopelessly, frustratingly aware of every little nuance in the loft that differed from his quiet, unobtrusive bedroom. He missed the silence, the familiarity, the simplicity of it. Even the warmth and softness of Kurt's bed seemed worlds away from his own cold, stiff mattress. Absurdly, he missed that, too, feeling his heart clench as he realized that for the first time in his life, he was genuinely homesick.

It wasn't because he knew that he wouldn't return in two days' time. It was because he knew that, in less than a year, it would be his future, not merely Kurt and Rachel's. They would be old hands at living in New York, comfortable with all the chaos and unfamiliarity that came with each new day. Blaine, on the other hand, would be the newbie, the woefully ignorant freshman wading deep into shark-infested waters without a single anchor to buoy him.

Reflexively, he tightened his grip around Kurt's waist, startling a soft, barely perceptible grunt from him. He froze, willing Kurt to stay asleep and relax when he felt his breathing deepen and even once more.

He wouldn't be alone, he chastised himself, shifting closer to Kurt until his cheek was nestled against his shoulder. He would still have his friends and family within a day's drive, if need be, and he could always contact them via text or call.

Everything would work out. Whether it was easy or not in the beginning was irrelevant. He knew that he was signing up for a daunting task, and he'd already served his time in high school to earn it.

New York wouldn't be easy, but Blaine Anderson had never been one to settle.

Closing his eyes and listening, Blaine drifted off into a shallow, dreamless sleep.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Kurt greeted cheerfully as Blaine stumbled into the tiny kitchen area Rachel and Kurt had carefully partitioned off from the rest of the loft. "I made breakfast. Well. Lunch." He gestured at the frying pan, a trio of eggs cooking. Blaine sniffed the air once appreciatively as he sidled closer, wrapping his arms around Kurt's waist from behind as he settled his chin on Kurt's shoulder.

"I missed you," he murmured, thoughtlessly pressing a kiss to Kurt's shoulder. The familiarity of the gesture relaxed him, taking some of the edge off his sleeplessness. Kurt smiled at him and bopped him lightly on the nose before using a spatula to tend to his eggs, chattering benignly all the while.

"I missed you, too. Rachel left early to work out with Brody this morning, so it's just us for the day. We're going to meet up for Callbacks later tonight."

"What's Callbacks?" Blaine asked, tilting his head slightly to one side as he watched Kurt scoop the eggs onto a plate and turn off the oven.

"You'll have to wait and see," he said, smiling as he slipped out of Blaine's grip and carried a pair of plates over to the table. "Come on. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

Blaine picked over his egg absentmindedly, watching Kurt and nodding along as he filled him in on the workings of his routine. He'd settled into a comfortable arrangement at Vogue dot com working four days a week, sometimes eight or nine hours a day. "I'm just an intern," he'd explained, smiling as he scooped a forkful of eggs into his mouth, waving his empty fork demonstratively as he talked, "but Isabelle says that if I keep this up for a couple months, then I'll be in the clear. Most interns are either picked off or accepted fairly early on, and after the success with Miss Anna Wintour, it looks good that I'll still be around in a few weeks."

Blaine smiled at that, scooping up a mouthful of eggs and chewing on them slowly. "You seem a lot happier here," he said at last, the brightness around Kurt palpable.

"I am," Kurt assured fervently. "I can't imagine being anywhere else." Then, expression softening, he added, "I still miss you everyday."

"I miss you, too," Blaine said softly, feeling his throat catch a little as he said the words aloud. It felt strange, after weeks of suppressing them, assuring Marley and Sam and Artie and even Brittany that he was fine, he was adjusting, everything was okay. He'd been saying it for so long that it felt strange to finally admit that he'd missed Kurt, like he was confessing something better left unsaid.

The smile that Kurt gave him was warm and sincere, however, as he gently steered the conversation away from nostalgia and into plans for the day. Their breakfast was long and lazy as Kurt alternated between eating and cooking, fruits and breads all mixing together in a blur of conversation. Blaine picked over it all, rarely finishing an entire item but taking a bite of a strawberry here, a nibble from a piece of toast there. In the end, he was comfortably full, Kurt's own plate swiped clean of everything but crumbs. Relieved that Kurt didn't question his own half-full plate as he rose from the table to help with the clean up, he found himself slipping back into that old persona again, the one that had become so comfortable with Kurt over the summer.

The summer before his senior year had been both bittersweet and nostalgic. Knowing that their days together were numbered, they'd happily taken advantage of their free time to reacquaint themselves with each other. Blaine learned nuances about Kurt's personality that he'd never seen before, and Kurt probably sketched out his own mental notes about Blaine's quirks as well. They learned as much about each other as they did from each other, sometimes venturing dangerously near fights as they argued about the future and how they were going to survive as a couple. The day that Tina had texted them about her break up with Mike had been a quiet, grim sort of afternoon, with only shared, wary glances speaking all of their trepidation for them. By the next day, they were fine again, happy and carefree and young, so young. It felt good to be teenagers in love, Blaine reflected, even as his heart sank every time Kurt mentioned next year.

Blaine knew that he couldn't keep Kurt in Lima forever. He knew that it wouldn't be fair to keep him in Ohio a minute longer than he needed to, and as soon as he saw that Kurt's false smiles were nothing more than a shield for his disappointment, he'd made the decision tolet go.

Kurt had to have the chance to thrive. Kurt needed to thrive.

In the end, Blaine's decision had been simple.

"Blaaaine."

Blaine looked up as Kurt draped his arms around his shoulders, grinning lazily down at him before leaning down to kiss him. Relaxing as he looped his own arms around Kurt's back and kissed back, Blaine melted into it, grateful for the support of the counter at his back. "I missed you so much," Kurt breathed as he pulled back, peppering kisses along his cheeks while Blaine closed his eyes and savored it. He felt tears burn his closed eyelids as Kurt kissed them both once, gently, before meeting his lips once more. Blaine squeezed his waist lightly, returning the kiss as his hands moved up to clutch at the middle of Kurt's back.

He didn't know how long they stood there, hands smoothing over backs and arms, soft, tiny smiles exchanged between kisses. There was no urgency to it, no sense of now now now that usually dominated their make out sessions. (Of course, without the imminent arrival of Burt Hummel or his own parents to consider, an empty loft was almost absurdly liberating.) Pushing thoughts of home and its inconveniences aside, Blaine walked Kurt backwards to the bed, their eyes meeting in a brief, wordless affirmation of the change. Kurt went down first, pulling him after and on top, his arms wrapping firmly around his waist as he tugged him up for a kiss. Blaine met it, his own hands trailing restlessly up and down Kurt's sides, tugging at the fabric of his shirt questioningly. Kurt favored him with a tiny nod and Blaine worked it off him, his mouth watering as he slowly, reverently put a hand on Kurt's side, smoothing a thumb over his hip. Kurt shivered and Blaine shed his own shirt quickly, leaning down to kiss him as soon as the collar was over his head, tossing it blindly aside.

They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, reacquainting themselves with familiar territory by slow, steady inches. Blaine smiled against Kurt's throat as he felt him tug impatiently at his hair, reaching for his belt when a brisk knock on the door jolted him out of his reverie. He groaned softly even as Kurt pushed him up and off quickly, calling out, "Just a minute!" as he scrambled to grab their shirts. Blaine leaned back on his heels, pouting at Kurt as he caught the shirt with his face before slowly tugging it back over his head. "Someone's back early," he muttered petulantly as he stole a quick peck before darting over to the door, sliding it open.

Blaine climbed off the bed slowly as he saw who it was, his mouth dropping open a little in surprise before he closed it. "Finn," Kurt blurted, surprised, while the latter grinned stupidly and looked between them.

"Hey, dudes. Is Rachel around?"

"She went out with Br- a friend," Kurt said warily, stepping back to let him inside. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see her." Finn shrugged, ambling inside and shucking off his coat, hanging it on the rack. "And you two. There was a last minute cancellation on a flight this morning and I got in."

Kurt and Blaine exchanged a single exasperated look as Finn's back was turned before Kurt plastered a falsely bright smile on his face and faced him again. "I'll let her know that you're in."

"Thanks," Finn said, grinning as he reached out to chuck Kurt's shoulder playfully. "You're awesome, man, you know that?"

"So I've been told," Kurt said dryly, already fishing his phone out of his pocket and dialing. Blaine smiled awkwardly at Finn from his perch by Kurt's bed when his gaze swept the room and landed on him, attempting to look as nonchalant and comfortable as possible. He was keenly aware of how ruffled his own shirt looked, his hair mostly in disarray. Finn didn't seem to notice, moving to sit on one of the couches as Kurt said, "Hey, Rach," and disappeared into the kitchen area.

Brody and Rachel arrived almost an hour later. The three of them had been playing cards at the coffee table as they waited and caught up on Glee club news. It seemed strange to Blaine, talking about Lima when so much of everything was New York, but there was a refreshing simplicity to it that quickly put his ruffled feathers at ease. As soon as Brody stepped through the door, Finn's gaze fell on him, his own smile falling even as Brody's widened companionably. "Hey, everyone," he greeted the room at large.

"Hey, Brody," Kurt called, feet propped in Blaine's lap as he tossed another card on top of the pile.

"Finn," Rachel said, looking over at him as he stood up, the goofy grin back on his face.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Brody looked between the two of them as Blaine set his cards down, rubbing Kurt's feet absentmindedly. "Is this . . . your boyfriend?" he asked, hands tucked into his pockets thoughtfully.

Rachel bit her lip. "We're - yes. This is Finn, my . . . boyfriend."

Brody extended a hand and Finn and he shook, smiling uncertainly at each other. "Nice to meet you," Finn said.

"Likewise," Brody added, gaze drifting back to Rachel almost protectively before looking aside. "I'll, uh. Leave you two alone?"

"I thought we were going to Callbacks tonight," Rachel said, her expression falling even as Finn's brow furrowed in confusion.

"We can still go," Brody hurried to assure. "I just thought that you two, maybe, might want to catch up?"

Kurt slid his feet out of Blaine's lap and stood up, smoothing down his shirt slightly. "You three can duke it out here, Blaine and I are going to get cake."

Blaine tilted his head up to look at Kurt, holding out his hands invitingly and letting Kurt tug him to his feet. "We are?" he murmured, shrugging on his coat and tucking his feet in his shoes while Kurt nodded.

"Trust me, you'll love it," he assured, patting Blaine's shoulder and turning to look at Finn, Rachel, and Brody with a slight smile. "We'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Yeah, see you," Brody said as they made their way outside.

The bakery certainly lived up to expectations. Blaine leaned back heavily in his chair, one hand resting lightly on his paunch. "That was so good," he murmured, smiling at Kurt. Kurt smiled back, sipping at his coffee. "How on earth did you find this place?"

"Well, I did a little sightseeing my first couple weeks and on one nightly excursion, I found this," he said simply. "Bushwick isn't the best neighborhood in town, but the rates are great."

"So you've told me."

Kurt smiled. "So, what do you think?" he asked, resting his chin in his hands. "Does it meet expectations?"

"I have to admit, I'm very impressed," Blaine said, looking around. "Doesn't seem like a bad neighborhood, either."

"It's not," Kurt said. "We haven't had any trouble, at least. No drug deals going down in the loft."

"Really?" Blaine asked, looking falsely shocked as he glanced back at Kurt.

Kurt rolled his eyes and sneaked his unfinished cake slice across the table, taking a bite of it. "Disappointing, I know. You wouldn't know it, though, given how crazy Rachel and I are sometimes. I'm interning with fashion goddess Isabelle Wright, and she's studying under Cassie July."

"Is she the one with the Youtube video?" Blaine asked, furrowing his brow.

Kurt nodded. "Mmmhmm. She hasn't really gotten over it - go figure."

"Ah. Sounds like it would be an interesting class."

"Sometimes," Kurt agreed airily, taking another bite from the cake.

Blaine watched him, noticing the slightly downcast look on his face. "Are you still going to apply for second semester?"

Kurt shrugged, setting the cake aside. "Of course," he said. "I'm . . . I don't know if they'll take me," he added lightly, "but you never know if you never try."

"Exactly." Blaine reached across the table and gave Kurt's hand a light squeeze. "If nothing else, you still have Vogue dot com. And Wright likes you. She could open a lot of doors for you."

"I don't want to bother her," Kurt murmured, smiling a little. "It is nice to have a boss that doesn't hate me, though. New York's amazing." Looking over at Blaine, he asked, "So, talk to me. What's going on back at home? You've barely said five words about it since you got here."

"Well," Blaine said, pulling his hand away so he could clasp both of his own together. "We're working on a fall musical."

"Oooh, reviving tradition, are we?" he asked, grinning. "No more West Side Story?"

"No, we're looking at something new," Blaine agreed. "Grease, maybe."

Kurt nodded, setting his plate aside. "Is it weird that I actually sort of miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"The thrill of being onstage," Kurt said. "Performing."

"You'll be back soon," Blaine said quietly. Kurt cocked his head at him curiously, setting his plate aside. "You just have to find the right opportunity. New York's full of them. And, you know, Santana's already agreed to help out with the musical. It's right around Thanksgiving, so if you wanted. . . ."

"I'm not coming home for Thanksgiving."

Blaine blinked, startled. "Wait, what?" he said, looking over at Kurt. "I thought - "

"We're having Isabelle over," Kurt said sheepishly. "And . . . if I stay here, then I can still work and it works better with Rachel's schedule." He reached over to squeeze Blaine's hand. "I'll be home for three weeks at Christmas. It's just one holiday."

Blaine nodded, slowly turning his hand over to intertwine their fingers and squeeze Kurt's back. "Just one," he repeated.

Kurt smiled, glancing down at his watch and pulling his hand away. "We should probably head back," he said apologetically, picking up their plates. "Callbacks, remember?"

Blaine nodded again, following him, feeling his heart sink a little in his chest.

It's just one holiday, he chided himself. It doesn't mean anything.


	16. Chapter 16

Callbacks was different than Blaine had expected.

Kurt had refused to give him any details aside from the flitting pieces of information that he had gathered from Rachel's conversations with Finn. Kurt had wanted it to be a surprise, and surprised Blaine was when he realized that Callbacks was, for all intents and purposes, a bar. Of course, it lacked the rundown, almost sleazy atmosphere of Scandals, and its reputation was far superior among the young and upcoming musical elite, but a quick glance around the room was enough to tell Blaine that most of the beverages would not merit a non-alcoholic label. He wrinkled his nose a little at the thought, wondering why Kurt had chosen a NYADA haunt as the main course of the evening when he wasn't even enrolled in NYADA. His initial impression had been that Callbacks was a studio, maybe even a theater. His anticipation had curbed his appetite all evening, already somewhat diminished after their bakery visit. The familiar ringing of glasses clinking and borderline drunken laughter echoing around them had quickly soured any remaining hunger that he'd had.

He felt like a lost, anxious puppy as he followed in Kurt's footsteps, squeezing between tables and past dozens and dozens of unfamiliar faces. The temptation to grab onto Kurt's hand was almost overwhelming, but he couldn't reach it from his angle and Kurt walked too briskly for him to try. Scenery passed in a blur as Kurt lead him towards the back where, a few few away, a raised platform had been set up, accompanied by a piano. Blaine looked around, trying to take it all in and swallow questions about why this was the first place that Kurt wanted to show him, this was the first truly authentic night out in New York he wanted him to experience. It was disconcerting, the closeness, the intimacy of it all shared among virtual strangers. These people knew each other and mingled freely, even settling in open spaces on the floor in order to secure a lengthier conversation.

The thought of spending an evening on a hard wood floor made Blaine cringe inwardly before he noticed that Kurt wasn't leading him towards one of the few open spaces available on the floor (even those were in high demand as well, it seemed). No, Kurt cut a path through the attendees until he reached a table where Brody was sitting, grinning as he lifted a hand in greeting.

"Hey. Thought you might not show up," he said, tilting his near empty glass in a salutatory gesture.

"As if we would miss it," Kurt puffed, sliding into a chair neatly. Blaine floundered for a moment before latching onto the nearest chair and hopping up onto it, resting his feet against the lowest rung delicately. He didn't like the perched feeling - he never had - and if he had been two inches taller, it wouldn't have been an issue at all. Doing his best to find a comfortable position without making it too obvious that he was uncomfortable in the first place, he shifted while Kurt and Brody caught up on the 'Finchel drama' in hushed tones. It seemed that Brody was a little freer about expressing his opinions on the whole state of affairs with a drink (or two; Blaine didn't know how often his glass had been refilled already). Kurt chimed in easily with his own comments, gladly accepting the cherry martini that Brody offered him later.

In the span that it took him to get the drink - thirty seconds, perhaps - Blaine didn't say a word, soaking in the atmosphere and the soft, almost soothing undertone of music in the air. Someone was playing the piano, he realized, just lightly testing the keys, loudly enough that the sound carried to their table near the middle of the 'first floor.' (The second and third floors extended around the corners, with slots in between each wall to allow the music to carry even when the performers' faces could not.) Blaine couldn't help but be fascinated by it, his heart rate actually slowing as the musician just played on and on and on, seemingly endlessly. Kurt didn't say a word until Brody returned, gratefully accepting the drink and resuming their conversation almost seamlessly.

He sipped at the drink, lost in his own reverie as Blaine stared at the walls, the floors, any excuse not to make eye contact with the other strangers surrounding him, listening for that single strain of music underneath it all. A restless feeling settled in his shoulders when it stopped, the final note tapering off into silence as casual conversation reasserted itself at the forefront of his mind. He caught the edges of Kurt's laugh and turned to face him, his gaze still a little glassy with remorse as he tried to recapture that same calm, unruffled feeling.

Listening to Brody and Kurt talk about upcoming auditions deflated his enthusiasm. He had been opening his mouth to say something before quietly, unobtrusively sliding it shut. He had nothing to say. He could mourn the fact that Kurt hadn't gotten into NYADA - and mourn he had, for weeks alongside his boyfriend as they worked painstakingly to carve out new paths, new futures - but he couldn't celebrate the triumphs that he'd already made in reapplying in the same way. He could nod and make sympathetic noises about Cassie July and her crazy teaching methods, but he couldn't understand the reality of living under her tutelage. He could even recognize the places that Kurt and Brody referred to around Bushwick and other areas in New York, but he didn't know them. He could empathize with Kurt's past, but he couldn't live in his future.

Not fully. Not yet.

Blinking in surprise as he realized that Finn and Rachel had arrived - and acquired drinks of their own - Blaine forced himself to smile at them even though they didn't see him. It didn't strike Blaine as unkind that he hadn't been offered a drink: Brody didn't know any better, assuming that he was underage (although Kurt, Rachel, and Finn were all underage, too), and none of the former Ohioans thought twice about it. Finn and Rachel were too absorbed in each other, arguing about something that Blaine had lost track of five sentences ago, and Kurt knew the consequences that drinking had had on him.

He swallowed the urge to comment on any of it, instead sitting placidly beside his boyfriend and trying to feel less like he was hopelessly, desperately out of place.

Thankfully, he wasn't required to be an active member of the conversation. Kurt talked enough for both of them. It wasn't that Blaine didn't like listening to Kurt talk - he loved listening to Kurt talk - but sometimes he felt like Kurt just didn't listen anymore. Which, he reasoned, was partially because Blaine didn't talk much anymore, either.

They'd lost their common ground, both literally and metaphorically.

"You okay?" Kurt asked, his voice coming out genuinely concerned even as he frowned, almost pouted at Blaine. "You look a little . . . ." He waved a hand in an ambivalent gesture, presumably indicating that Blaine had checked out of the conversation.

"No, I'm - I'm good," he assured, mustering the strongest smile that he could for Kurt. It must have worked because Kurt smiled back and then a spotlight was alighting on stage and Brody and Rachel were introducing themselves. Blaine stiffened reflexively in anticipation, peripherally aware of Finn sitting eagerly forward in his seat, unaware that anything could possibly be amiss. As soon as the first light piano notes resonated, however, Blaine knew, and he closed his eyes and listened.

Rachel was beautiful. Her voice soared, matching each note perfectly. Brody's voice accompanied hers in a way that made Blaine's heart ache, his fingers tensing in his lap as he resisted the urge to reach forward and intertwine them with Kurt's. It seemed too ominous to do so when Finn was frowning a little across the table, recognition finally furrowing his brow. Even then, he didn't dramatically rise and halt the performance, letting it work its way through until the last notes of Give Your Heart a Break vanished.

A smattering of applause greeted the performance, Kurt joining in happily. Blaine belatedly remembered to offer his own, giving a few perfunctory claps before resting his hands in his lap once more. Rachel and Brody successfully wended their way through the crowd a few moments later, eventually taking their seats back at the table. They were breathless and beaming, Kurt congratulatory and pleased, Finn silent and sullen. Blaine breathed in slowly through his mouth, trying to think of something to say, anything that could salvage the evening, before it burst out of him:

"I want to sing something."

Kurt turned to look at him, shrugging a little, one eyebrow arched in surprise. "Just ask Pascal, he's the pianist," was all he said.

Blaine nodded, sliding out of his seat and slowly forcing his way through the crowd. It took nearly two minutes to accomplish, the sheer numbers impeding his progress. At last, he reached the stage, hesitantly climbing the half-step onto it. An upperclassman had taken a seat near the piano, already working his way through the same familiar rhythm Blaine had recognized from before. For a moment, he was tempted to back down and simply let him play, before determination won out and he said quietly, "Can I play something?"

"Can you?" Pascal countered, rising from his seat and looking contemplatively at Blaine before he glided over to the bar, effortlessly working his way through the crowds. Blaine shuffled over to the piano and took a seat, shifting on the bench until he was comfortable before gingerly placing his fingers on the keys.

"Hi," he said softly, looking around at the dozens of eyes before looking at Kurt and swallowing. "This is the song that I sang when I met . . . the love of my life."

Kurt smiled, expectant and pleased. Blaine had to take his fingers off the piano keys briefly to still their trembling as he said, "This is for you, Kurt."

He let his fingers brush against the piano once more, barely aware of the dozens of other eyes on him as he let everything be real for him. Let the moments when he and Kurt were still young and in love come alive, even though he was desperately, painstakingly aware that those moments had all come and gone. The future stood before him, and while Kurt was already gleefully moving on with his life -

Blaine was still stuck. Stuck in Lima, Ohio of all places.

Swallowing as he tried to keep his voice from breaking, he made it through the first verse without too much difficulty, meeting Kurt's gaze as often as he could as he tried to tell him without words that this was real. Their lives were moving apart, exponentially by the day. Kurt was learning an entire new world of people and events and lifestyles, whereas Blaine was still trying to manage a dysfunctional Glee club teetering on the verge of collapse. Unable to keep the soft, broken tone to his voice from showing, he sang and sang and sang, refusing to give in even when he saw Kurt's face fall as he got it.

He didn't remember how long the song took, how much applause there was at the end. He barely remembered pushing himself up and out of the seat before forcing his way to the door. Cold night air washed over him, but he didn't stop until he'd walked a block, two blocks, three in a city he didn't know among people he'd never met. By the time he reached Battery Park, his breath came out in sharp, staccato bursts, searing his lungs with their frigidity. He all but collapsed on the nearest bench, lifting his hands to cradle his head as he tried to think of excuses, anything to say that could explain why he'd lost it in front of Kurt and his friends. Kurt's friends. Brody and Rachel and even Finn, who would have seen the display as easily as Kurt had and make their own inevitable judgments about it.

Eventually - time seemed to pass at a glacial pace, frozen in the moment as he looked around the empty park - Kurt appeared at the end of the sidewalk. Blaine didn't speak as he rose, padding over to him wordlessly while Kurt stood with his hands tucked into his pocket and his face hurt. He still offered Blaine a slight, almost pained smile as he stopped, two feet in front of him.

"That was . . . very moving," he said at last, seeming to search for the right words for a long time while Blaine inclined his head a little. He started walking and Kurt fell in beside him, keeping up with him easily. "I guess now I'm just wondering why that was," Kurt added quietly, his voice rising slightly when Blaine didn't seem inclined to answer.

Blaine kept quiet for a time, simply walking alongside Kurt, trying to remember why he didn't just turn around and smile and tell him that he hadn't meant to get so emotional on him, that seeing him after so long had finally broken down his resolution not to be upset about it all. "You've moved on," he said at last, stopping and turning to look at Kurt as Kurt froze, a frown deepening the lines on his forehead.

"I'm sorry?" He didn't say it apologetically, though, and Blaine knew that he was hurt by the accusation.

"This is your life now, Kurt," he hurried to explain, gesturing around himself. "This. All of this. And I - " He swallowed a bitter chuckle. "I have no part in it. None."

"Don't be silly," Kurt said, voice oddly low as he stared at Blaine in open disbelief, horror and fear warring for dominance on his face. "You're the reason I came here, Blaine."

"You came here to live your dreams," Blaine corrected. "I just told you to stop procrastinating."

Kurt shook his head, walking again. Blaine didn't follow, and he stopped, turning around to look at him. "You're not serious," he said, voice rising even more with suspicion as he retraced his steps and took Blaine's hands in his own, almost desperately. "Blaine, we're in this together. This is what we've always wanted, remember? And we knew it was gonna be hard but - but we were gonna make it work. We are going to make it work," he amended fiercely, refusing to break Blaine's gaze even as he turned away.

"You can't put your life on a standstill for me," he interjected, gently tugging at his hands even as Kurt tightened his own, refusing to let go. "You can't - I want you to have this, I want you to - to be happy here and go out and do things and meet amazing people. But I can't be a part of that." He squeezed Kurt's hands, hoping that he would let go then; the numb, almost deadened look in his eyes seemed more than enough indication that he would. But he kept his steely grip, refusing to let Blaine slip away so easily, so guilt-free and remorseless, and at last Blaine was forced to add quietly, "Kurt, let go."

Kurt's hands fell away from Blaine's as he stared at him, eyes red-rimmed and jaw set so tensely Blaine could see a vein pulsing in his neck. "It's all about you, isn't it?" he burst out at last, fury overtaking pain as he stepped away from Blaine. "You don't care about how - how hard it's been for me to adjust to all of this, or how much I still have to do and - "

"Kurt, you're going to be amazing," Blaine insisted fiercely, stepping forward even as Kurt wheeled back. "You don't need me to be your - your crutch or something, you don't need that, you never have."

"So I've - I've never needed someone to be there for me, is that it?" Kurt burst out, almost hysterically. Tears had spilled over his cheeks but he didn't care, his shaking voice the only indication that he was at all aware of it. "I've never actually needed my best friend or - or my - my boyfriend to support me?"

"Everyone needs support," Blaine said quietly, "but it doesn't have to be me."

"You're breaking up with me." The way Kurt said it, his shivery voice going eerily still, made Blaine's stomach twist. They stared at each other, neither able to voice what they wanted to say, Blaine swallowing dryly as Kurt's eyes bore down on him.

"Kurt, I'm so sorry," he said, but he barely made it past the last syllable before Kurt turned on his heel and stalked off.

His heart sinking as he watched, Blaine called out, "Kurt, wait, please, just - " as he fell in after him, but Kurt was around the corner and out of sight in seconds, leaving Blaine alone and utterly lost as he looked around at a dozen unfamiliar buildings.

Sinking against the side of one, Blaine pressed his fists against his eyes and said nothing.


	17. Chapter 17

Hate-watching Treme wasn't the same without Kurt.

Blaine had even made the mistake of inviting Sam over one lonely Monday night to see if that would somehow spark a conversation. For twenty eight valiant minutes, they had made a patchwork attempt at understanding the shows idiosyncratic complexes. When that had failed, Sam had hopped off the bed, padded over to the duffle bag he had brought along, and pulled out the Dark Knight trilogy. Blaine hadn't protested the change of pace, enjoying Sam's commentary almost as much as the movies themselves. It was easy to forget that Sam wasn't Kurt when he prattled off endlessly about the different characters, seated next to Blaine on the couch as they alternately ate popcorn.

That was Monday, though, and it had been almost four weeks since Kurt and he had broken up.

At first, Blaine hadn't known what to do. He'd tried distracting himself when texting and calling Kurt hadn't worked, throwing himself into the activities he had at McKinley. He threw out dozens of proposals for fundraisers and dances, helped design costumes after school for various events, and even single-handedly baked three hundred cookies for the quasi-annual McKinley cookie sale (a rousing success, for once; Puck's recipe had done its work). Even with Marley, Artie, Brittany, and Sam assisting, the process had taken hours, a brief snafu on the money count quickly resolving itself once Artie found the earnings Brittany had stored in an empty cookie container.

All in all, Blaine had thought that it might work. That if he worked hard enough, he might be able to move on without a hitch. That he could accept that Kurt was in New York and therefore out of reach, and focus on his own life instead, building himself up slowly towards the person that he wanted to be. Maybe he couldn't see his boyfriend for another year, but maybe it was for the best - for both of them. Kurt needed the freedom to explore and get to know New York without outside interference, just as Blaine needed time to start developing his own path forward as well. For too long, it seemed, he had focused solely on high school. Having transferred twice and successfully formed a niche for himself both at Dalton as well as McKinley, the separation from Kurt had jump-started his desire to look at his future more seriously. For a time, he was so invested in searching all possible options that he almost forgot about Kurt and New York entirely.

And then he went to search NYU and accidentally typed NYA. NYADA articles appeared by the hundreds, their official web site front and center among the search results. Wordlessly, Blaine clicked on it, scanning their programs and comparing its campus to the living arrangements he'd already considered. It wasn't a school that took its applicants lightly: resumes, transcripts, portfolios, videos, even live performances were all requested in the application process. Blaine remembered Kurt slaving over his own portfolio, a project designed to test NYADA students' creativity and ability to showcase their own talents without outward guidance. Some performed and recorded themselves, others made discs of their music, some even composed new songs entirely. Instrumentalists weren't uncommon, and cinematographers were also present in the mix. In the end, Kurt had chosen the relatively safe option of recording himself performing a wide variety of ranges, sometimes leaping from one end of the spectrum to the other in a single breathless bound. His song selection had worked marvels with his voice, and ultimately, Blaine had felt confident that he had done the best that he could with his circumstances.

The thought of Kurt's anguish when the NYADA letter had come back at last - We're sorry - made Blaine's heart clench as he closed his laptop, hurrying off to his next class instead.

For two and a half weeks, he had been able to almost forget Kurt. He focused on his studies, taking twice as many notes as he needed and spending long hours pouring over textbooks he'd practically memorized. When he couldn't bear to look at his fellow New Directions without being painfully reminded of Kurt, he stopped sitting at the Glee club table at lunch, preferring to spend his free time in the locker rooms or library instead. He found ways to stay busy, requesting the use of the auditorium to work on choreography with his loyal bands of Glee clubbers as often as they would tolerate. On the days when they had other obligations or interests, he worked with the Cheerios, throwing himself into the routines. Sylvester didn't notice: she pushed them harder than ever, refusing to quit until they had completed any given routine seven times perfectly.

Even with competition right around the corner, Blaine barely noticed when week three arrived.

On the third Thursday since Kurt and Blaine had broken up, Finn had been standing in the center of the auditorium, hands clasped together loosely in front of him, entire stance weary. A quick survey found the rest of the room equally footsore and unmotivated: all were seated, with Blaine and Finn alone standing, Finn in the center of their ring, Blaine behind his chair. He waited for Finn to say something, anything, his knuckles turning white around the chair edge before Marley finally piped in: "When are Grease auditions?"

"Tomorrow," Finn said.

With a wordless nod of mutual approval, the Glee clubbers stood, gathering their materials and disembarking without another word. Finn didn't raise a single protest, watching them leave before turning on his own heel and walking off, gathering the papers off the music stand before leaving. Blaine barely noticed as the rest of them filed out, Marley giving his shoulder a single brief squeeze in passing. They were gone a moment later, all of them, including the two new members Blaine hadn't even bothered single out in their little circle to greet. Schuester had always been responsible for officially welcoming members, anyway; his secondary congratulations was only optional.

The auditorium had been dark, then; dark, quiet, and utterly devoid of life besides his one small speck of existence. Gathering up his own satchel, he stood, Cheerios uniform making him feel oddly out of place on the stage. He slowly folded each other the chairs, stacking them back on the rack where they belonged. Scanning the empty floor for a long, silent moment, he turned out the last of the lights and wordlessly stepped out of the room.

Whether it was exhaustion, hunger, or pure, unadulterated loneliness, he had seen Kurt seated in the shadows, blue-grey eyes boring into him calmly. Blaine swallowed, wanting to say something, desperate to make amends, but when his thumb slipped and the lights came on, Kurt's specter was gone.

And that was when he began to break down.

The applause reached Blaine distantly, his eyes lingering over the hundreds of empty seats in the auditorium instead. At last, once the final claps of approval had rung out and silence reigned, Blaine met the judges' eyes, a soft, rueful smile on his face.

"That was really great," Finn said brightly, an unsubtle nudge from Artie making him straighten in his chair. "Great job, Blaine."

"An unusual choice, given that was originally performed by Sandy," Artie added critically. "But still - fantastic. Given my artistic liberties, we could integrate it as a duet - "

"I don't want to play Danny."

Artie visibly paused, sitting back a little heavier in his chair. Finn blinked. "Dude, you just auditioned for him."

"I auditioned for Sandy, actually," Blaine corrected, hands clasped in front of himself.

Finn and Artie exchanged a look.

"You want to play Sandy?" Artie asked, almost delicately, though he was clearly restraining a strong urge to protest the decision. Blaine couldn't help but smile a little more at the mingled hesitance and curiosity in his expression, already trying to work through the result, eager to please and utilize any circumstances to the best of his ability.

"Sandy's a girl," Finn said, not unkindly.

"Wade's auditioning for Rizzo," Artie countered, turning to face him briefly. "If we can let him - "

"Her," Blaine cut in gently.

Artie turned to him again. "Her?"

"Unique?" They stared at him blankly for a moment, matching blushes when they understood the point that he was making Blaine laugh. It made his stomach sink a little to realize that, in spite of all her appeasements and concessions, Unique definitely struggled to remain a separate entity from Wade. Whiplash was part of it: even the Glee clubbers had lessons to learn and differences to embrace. He certainly hadn't welcomed Unique with open arms; it was hardly his place to be calling either of them out on it, but he'd seen Marley and Unique talking quietly in a corner of the hallway just before he'd entered the auditorium and felt compelled to say something.

Artie picked up the slack first, breaking his reverie. "Oh. Well. Yes. Her. If Unique wants to audition as Rizzo, then Blaine - "

"I don't want to be in the musical."

Dead silence.

"What?"

"You - "

"You just auditioned," Finn insisted, while Artie gaped in wordless disbelief. "You have to."

"Not everyone who auditions gets a part," Blaine pointed out.

Artie visibly restrained himself from his first comment, instead saying calmly, "We need you. Your vocal talents alone - "

"You have Marley, Jake, Ryder, Brittany, Sam, Unique," Blaine rattled off calmly. "All of whom deserve a fair chance."

"We need you," Artie insisted. "Something. Anything."

"You could be an understudy?" Finn suggested.

Blaine shrugged. "Fine with me."

"Angel," Artie blurted. Finn and Blaine turned to stare at him. "Teen Angel. It's perfect."

Finn looked at Blaine, who looked between the two of them once more and inclined his head. "Fine. Teen Angel it is. I'll understudy any character you'd like."

Artie relaxed, Finn nodding in satisfied agreement beside him. "Great. Thanks for coming."

Blaine left the auditorium without another word, watching as Marley and Unique eyed him skeptically from their corner. "So, how'd it go?" Marley asked, sidling up to him and linking their arms instead. Unique eyed him distrustfully, wordlessly walking inside the auditorium, the door banging shut behind her. "She's nervous," Marley apologized softly. "Especially with the whole . . . Rizzo."

"I know." Blaine squeezed her arm once lightly. "Have you auditioned yet?"

"I did this morning," Marley replied, a smile on her face. "Except, you know. Results aren't posted until Monday, so . . . I still have three days to wonder if Kitty will sneak the part out from under me."

Blaine blinked once, twice, stupidly. "Kitty?"

"Yeah, didn't you hear?" Correctly inferring that he hadn't from his baffled expression, Marley hummed sympathetically, pulling him away from the doors over to the announcement board. "Jake and her were dating," she explained in a low voice, gaze sweeping the empty hallway briefly before she relaxed and leaned up against the board, releasing Blaine's arm. "Except then Jake . . . ." She blushed, just a faint pinking of her cheeks that Blaine might have missed had he not been as close.

"You two are dating?" he asked, amused.

"We're not dating," Marley said, still blushing. "We're . . . we've gone out a few times, and seen each other between classes, and - "

"Have you kissed him?" Blaine asked dryly.

Marley's cheeks turned red. "Please don't tell Kitty, I just got over her complaining about the fact that Jake and I had a study hall together."

"So, who's with who?"

Marley sighed. "Jake and I . . . we see each other, but . . . Kitty's gotten really defensive lately, and Jake continues to appease her, so . . . I would say I'm the odd one out here." She smiled ruefully.

"You don't have to be dating someone to be happy," Blaine pointed out, a dull twinge of regret making his stomach twist a little.

She eyed him doubtfully, saying nothing for a time. At last, she added quietly, "I'm sorry. About what happened between you and Kurt. If it means anything - "

"It's okay," Blaine interjected gently, giving her hand a placating squeeze and tugging her back over toward the auditorium, Unique's voice reaching a crescendo from within. "Kurt and I . . . ." He swallowed, abruptly at a loss for words.

We're going to work out.

We're meant for each other.

We promised that we weren't going to let this ruin our relationship.

"We'll figure something out," he said at last, grateful for the distraction when Unique burst through the doors.

"Look out, motherfuckers, Unique is back."

"Unique!" Marley chastised, casting an anxious look around the hallway for any sign of teachers before laughing. "Did it really go that well?"

"We are going out. Let's get out of here," was all Unique said.

Blaine turned to find Sam or Jake or even Tina when Marley linked their arms again. Without a chance to protest before Unique was propelling them down the hallway, Blaine shook his head slightly in amusement as the girls bubbled about their plans for the rest of the day.

It was nice, in a way. Certainly easier to accept that there was a hole in his heart than to try and mend it.

And if he had to endure having his fingernails painted light blue, at least he made Marley grin and Unique cackle.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. Please let me know if there are any weird coding errors in the fic! I did my best to weed them out before publication, but some will inevitably slip through the cracks.


End file.
